Memory
by Kosiah
Summary: "Onasi." A muscle jumped in the man's cheek. "Carth Onasi. Admiral Carth Onasi." "I'm sorry?" Bastila Shan caressed the gentle swell of her belly. Her beautiful face looked puzzled.
1. Journeys

**Disclaimer: **These characters and their world are the property of LucasArts and Bioware. I just wrote about them.

12/04 continuity edit, no big changes.

_All happy families are alike._

* * *

**Chapter 1 / Journeys**

The crowd cheered and the Republic Cross of Glory was warm and solid against the fabric of her robe, a happy benediction. Bastila smiled and Mission giggled with a teenager's exuberance at the crowd's adulation. They'd done it--the Sith were shattered, the Star Forge destroyed. Revan glanced at Carth out of the corner of her eye and he flushed a little, ducking his head down that she'd caught him watching her. There was a promise in his eyes, and she grinned back at him in happy agreement. The sky of the Rakata homeworld was blue and even here on the temple steps she could hear the muted roar of the ocean. _Sun and sand._ Surely the Council and the Republic would let them rest now, after all that they'd been through.

_Now we live happily ever after._

"And now there is another tale to weave into the eternal fabric of our order." Master Vandar said, beaming up her with trust and confidence. "The tale of Revan, the prodigal knight."

So many shining faces smiling back at her. At all of them. She turned her head around and looked at her companions. Even Canderous seemed pleased, sandwiched between Juhani and Jolee. Jolee caught her eye and winked. Juhani looked straight ahead, formal and reserved as she always was in public. The droids were polished and shining, and Zaalbar's normally tangled coat was bushed and combed for the occasion.

"I swore a life debt to you Polla Organa," the wookiee growled at her, pain in his dark eyes. "I had no choice."

She frowned. Zaalbar was usually so quiet. Why mention that now?

The rest of the day was a blur of accolades and festivities.

_Glory be to the Republic. All hail Lord Revan, savior of the galaxy._

* * *

She and Mission played a game of pazaak, as they so often did, in the storage room of the Ebon Hawk. It kept their minds off the hyperspace jump, which made them both sick every time. 

"You're cheating," the young twi'lek said, not for the first time.

"I am not!" She laughed.

"Polla, I taught you everything you know about pazaak, don't tell me you're not cheating." Mission giggled, bright and happy. It was so good to hear Mission laugh like this; she'd been so upset about Taris, and then about Grif. Mission was wearing the Baragwin vest they'd bought on Yavin. She always wore it. She'd said it was the first really nice thing she'd ever owned, when they'd bought it on the stop between Kashyyyk and Tatooine. It was the first piece of clothing she'd been able to afford and pick out herself.

"Don't call me Polla, I'm Revan."

"It seems to me if you don't remember being Revan, there's no problem." The twi'lek shrugged and scrubbed at the front of her vest. There was a ragged and torn place there, a place where a vibroblade had cut too deep. "I can't mend this," Mission complained.

"You're lucky to be alive," Revan reminded her.

"Yeah..." the twi'lek frowned, a little frown, and her head tails twitched uneasily. She looked at Revan her eyes wide and guileless, a child's eyes still for all her protestations that she was grown up. "I should have run away, then this wouldn't be ruined. I wish you wouldn't cheat."

"I wish you...." There was a lump in her throat. _Why?_ Revan rubbed her eyes angrily, setting the cards down on the table. "I don't feel like playing pazaak now, I'm sorry."

"That's ok, I'll just..." Mission fiddled with the front of her vest, unsnapping the carbonite buckles one by one, and slipped out of it. Underneath she wore a simple gray jumpsuit, but the front of it was stained with blood.

"Does it hurt?" Revan asked her curiously.

"Not anymore."

"I'm sorry, Mission," Revan said quietly and walked away.

* * *

Jolee was waiting for her in the navigator's quarters, as he always was. 

"Something on your mind?" he said kindly.

She tried not to stare at the charred place where the lightsaber had bit, deep in his side. If he could ignore it, so could she. _We'll be at Yavin soon and then we can heal you,_ she promised him silently.

"The Jedi say everyone can be redeemed," Revan offered cautiously. "No matter what they've done."

"We all have the ability to make choices, kid. It's history that tells us later which are the right ones and which are wrong."

"I was--angry. At the Council and their mistakes. I was sick of being their pawn. Why didn't you understand that? It could have been different."

"Ah now, yes it could have kid. But I made my choice and you made yours."

"I'm...sorry."

"It's not me you should apologize to, kiddo, doesn't really matter to me one way or the other, not any more."

"Juhani--?"

Jolee shrugged. "I suppose she'd be angry and sad. She didn't have the experience I did at being betrayed. But no, I think you should talk to the others. They have to live with this, not us. Not anymore."

Revan grimaced. "I'm not ready for that. Don't ask me to do that, Jolee."

The old man shrugged. "None of us are getting any younger. It's the ones that are going to get older that you need to talk to."

* * *

_Malak died, but she didn't want to think about that now._

_Afterwards, she ran through the long corridors of the Star Forge with Bastila at her side. It was one thing to win the war, and quite another to survive it. How had they survived? The remaining Sith hadn't know Malak was dead. They'd had to kill two entire squadrons to fight clear to the docks where the Ebon Hawk waited. No time for Bastila's Battle Meditation now--the Republic was throwing everything it had at the Star Forge. The Republic forces were suicidal and desperate. And they were winning. _

_Alarms chimed warnings. Hull breech on the Command Deck, life support systems will fail. Evacuate, evacuate._

_Canderous was waiting for them on the dock, a question in his impenetrable Mandalorian eyes. She'd nodded slightly, and he'd started to kneel. She'd laughed impatiently. No time for that now. If they wanted to live they had to get off the station. _

I can always build another one_, she remembered thinking. There'd been other thoughts too, but she didn't want to remember them._

_And then there he was, running up the deck to them and everything changed._

* * *

"Juhani...?" Revan peered into the room off the mechanic's quarters. Small and plain, as it always was; the cathar lived as simply as she could in rigid discipline. She'd always envied Juhani's ability to be so contained. Revan's own life seemed messy and sprawling by comparison. A form moved underneath the thermal blankets on the thin spacer's cot. 

"Go away," Juhani said flatly, voice muffled by the covers.

"I want to talk," Revan insisted. She sat down on the edge of the bed. A lightly furred arm reached up and pulled the blankets down tighter, as Juhani shifted away from her, as far to the other side as the narrow cot would allow.

"There's nothing to say. I believed in you. I thought you were stronger than I was. I thought you were a hero."

"They used me," Revan said angrily. "Just like they used you on Dantooine with that stupid test. They made you suffer for a stupid test. Are those the actions of a wise and good Council? Answer me. Are they?"

The cathar sat up and Revan recoiled a little, seeing what the lightsaber blade had done to her friend's face. The friendly eyes were gone, a blackened ruin that extended from the top of her head halfway down her nose. Another deep cut began at her breastbone and slashed across the front of her chest and tattered robe.

"I wish I'd killed you in that grove," Juhani hissed. "You were weak then, and I could have so easily."

"Don't give into your emotions," Revan began automatically.

"That's a load of gamorrean dung, coming from you, _Lord_ Revan." The ruined face twisted.

"I'm going to do the right thing now." Revan said softly. "All I ever meant to do was the right thing. Why couldn't you have understood that? You followed me for months, across five worlds, unquestioningly. You worshipped me, I could see it in your eyes, the way you watched me. . . long before either of us knew who I was. Why did you turn on me, when I needed you the most?"

"Why—," the cathar's mouth curled, revealing little pointed teeth. "It's always been about you, hasn't it? Are you so blind still that you can't see why that's wrong?" Juhani pulled the covers over her head again. "Just go away. Leave me in peace. I've earned it."

Slowly Revan got up from the bed. "We'll talk later," she promised. "When we land on Yavin we'll find a medical droid to heal your wounds."

Faint hissing laughter was the only response, muffled by the blankets. "Stop fooling yourself," the cathar hissed. "You know what really happened."

* * *

_Voices in her head.__ Shadows._ Their voices swam above her head: Zaalbar's grunts and roars; HK's terse translations; Canderous' graveled response. 

"Translation: were it not for my life debt I would gladly end this all. But as long as she lives I must follow her."

"She's going to pull through, Revan's a fighter, she always was."

"The wookiee shows disrespect to the Master. I will continue to watch him closely."

Zaalbar's growled a curse that was untranslatable out of Kashyyyk context.

"You hairy meatbag! Show the proper respect."

"We're docking soon," the Mandalorian continued. "I just hope that rodian has what we need. I hope the pilot knows what in the nine hells he's doing." His calloused hand rested on her head. Revan tried to open her eyes but they were too heavy. "I'm giving her another shot, she's been talking in her sleep again. We can't risk her coming out of this until we know...what she'll do. She—she hasn't changed back. If Onasi's right, shouldn't she look better than this?"

Zaalbar growled again. "No matter what she is I must follow. I wish the gods of my people would deliver me from this task."

"Translation: the hairy meatbag swears fealty, but begs for death. Since the Master is incapacitated, perhaps you should blast him? I find it most regrettable that I am incapable."

_"No."_ There was no arguing with Canderous when he sounded like that. "Just go away, both of you. I need to dress her wounds again. They aren't healing like they should."

The world tilted, and there was a cold press of a hypo on her arm. Whirr of machinery as the Ebon Hawk's landing gear opened, and the ship settled.

* * *

_Yavin, Yavin Station._

_Revan ran through the oddly echoing halls of the ship looking for Mission. The girl always liked coming to visit Suvam--he was the best pazaak player they'd ever known. Surely she wouldn't want to miss this._

* * *

Carth looked at the smooth metal collar. "You're sure this will work?" he asked Suvam Tan again. The rodian rolled his eyes, exasperation warring with curiosity. He'd been so surprised to see the Ebon Hawk's docking codes again. Surprised and pleased to see his old friends back again. The report of their death had been false. But Captain Onasi looked terrible. He had that expression on his face that Suvam remembered all too well from the time just after the war with Exar Kun. He had dead eyes--the eyes of a man who has lost everything but keeps on going, even though he can no longer remember why or for what. Suvam tried his best to be reassuring. 

"The Sith made these restraining collars during the war to contain their Jedi prisoners. It blocks the force, yes? Baragwin engineers were very clever. As for the rest of your requests...yes I can give you false landing codes--and if you like I have a friend in the Exchange who's quite clever with identities--but I do have to ask...she's alive, isn't she? Revan?"

Carth just looked at him. Suvam ducked his head. "From what I've heard on the nets they all think she's dead--all of you are dead," he offered. "I'm pleased you are not...but--it gets lonely here and I am curious. Why aren't you on Coruscant getting medals with the rest of the Fleet? They had a memorial service three standard days ago for the lost crew of the Ebon Hawk. They'd be happy to see you all, I'm sure."

The human ignored him, grimacing and looking away. "Just give me what I need. Your friend--can he be trusted?"

Suvam laughed. "Of course not, but I can try and help you throw him off the scent. I should tell you--the Exchange was very interested before in the rebirth of Darth Revan and the... opportunities that might offer to citizens of free enterprise. They have been saddened to hear of her demise. There too, there would be an open welcome should you choose to take it."

Carth's eyes narrowed. Inwardly Suvam cursed. He'd said too much, hit some kind of nerve_. Time to smooth things over._ "I just make things and sell them," he offered weakly. "I have some of what you need already. My Exchange contact is on Korriban, but I can patch through to him and download the data we need to give you all new names.... while we wait perhaps the little blue-skinned girl and I could play cards? Where is she anyway? Revan always brought her out of the station when you came before...and I have a nice Baragwin armband I've finished polishing up to match her vest, if she'd like to see it..."

Mission Vao was always fun, almost as fun as Revan herself. Suvam Tan was looking forward to seeing her again. His ear stalks hummed in anticipation. Last time she'd won 900 credits—they were due a rematch and he had some new cards for his deck, bought off an Iridian spacer...but Carth's eyes were glassy, and his face was frozen in some kind of tragic mask. Humans looked so awkward when they were sad. Again, he'd said the wrong thing.

"She—she's not—" the pilot began.

"Oh," Suvam tried to sound comforting. War was a terrible thing. "How many identities will you need then?"

"Three citizens--make us from a non-Republic world if you can--one wookiee slave, and two refits for the droids. It's me and Canderous and Zaalbar and...her. That's all." Carth's voice dropped and broke. "That's all that's left."

"Where is she? I'd like to see her again, Revan was kind to me..." Suvam's voice trailed off. He wondered about the force collar, but he'd sold them to other Force-users. Some people didn't want to feel the universe singing around them, it was something he could understand. Power is a funny thing. He himself had never had much use for power on a grand scale. Considering some of the artifacts he'd found on Yavin IV, perhaps that was for the best. Certainly, he sometimes thought, the galaxy would thank him for not using them, if they only knew.

"She's—Revan is hurt. She was hurt...when there was fighting...she's not...herself."

"I have some regenerative implants that might help? No charge for that. You were all a great help to me with those Mandalorians, you know. I haven't seen them since."

"I'd...appreciate that, she...the wounds aren't healing, not like they should. But you, you have to...how can I know we can trust you?"

"_She_ trusted me," Suvam pointed out, remembering her bright smile. "The last time you came here Revan trusted me enough to tell me who she really was. And you've trusted me already, coming here like this."

Carth nodded, a savage jerk of his head. "We didn't have many options," he admitted. "If you can help her..." His expression was so nakedly torn between loss and hope it made Suvam wince to see it. Humans and their love...what a mess they made.

The Rodian looked away, made himself busy looking through a box of implants for the ones he needed. "With the kolto shortage these have been quite popular," he said. "I'm sure it's a terrible tragedy for Manaan but it's been very good for my business."

"I'm sorry about that," the human muttered inexplicably. "I was impatient with her, I needed to get to Korriban and look for my son. If I hadn't pushed her so hard on Manaan maybe she could have found another way...."

Suvam shrugged. It was a well-known fact on most known worlds that humans were inherently insane. If Carth wanted to take the blame for the kolto crises that had paralyzed half the galaxy, why would Suvam Tan argue?

* * *

Waking up was like clawing through a nest of eridu fiber into a world of gray shadows. _His face._ Carth's face, looking worriedly down at her own, brown eyes as familiar as hope. But he looked so sad. 

"Hello, beautiful," he said, turning the corners of his mouth up in a smile. His jaw shook a little, like it always did when something was troubling him.

"Carth," she breathed. Her voice was raspy and sore and something cold and heavy pressed down on her neck. She moved her hands uselessly over smooth metal underneath slippery fabric. Her body felt numb and she glanced down, automatically taking stock of her injuries. She was wearing a bacta suit, covered from eyes to toes. Not as effective as the tank, but the only thing they had on the Hawk. They only had the one...were Mission and the Jedi already healed? Revan frowned as something tugged at the back of her mind. Something she didn't want to think about so she pushed it away and looked up at him again.

"Where...?" Her voice trailed off, it was so hard to speak and she wasn't sure where to begin. _Where are we? Where are the others? What happened?_ She closed her eyes again.

"Polla," he said gently. "You can't sleep any more, it's not good for you. You need to get up and move around."

_That name again._

"There's no Polla, Carth. There never was, only me Revan," she whispered.

His breath caught. "Revan," he said quietly. "What am I to Revan?" He asked her. _Something in his voice, something pleading._

She opened her eyes again and looked at him. That lock of hair falling over his eyes again, just like it always did. Revan reached up a hand to smooth it back. His face was ragged and unshaven, and he looked so pale and sad. His skin had been golden on the Unknown world and he'd been laughing as they ran through the sand looking for the hyperdrive. Things were so serious--but even so they'd found a chance to sit on the beach, just for a little time, the afternoon before she'd gone to the ancient temple.

"I love you Carth," she reminded him. "When this is all over you and I will find something to live for, remember? Something besides Sith and the Council...when this is all over..." Her voice trailed off, frowning, as memories threatened to emerge from behind their locked and barred gate.

"It _is_ over." He looked away from her; a twist of his head and his hand caught hers. A strong hand, she could feel the pressure of it even underneath the webbed layer of the bacta suit.

"You...came and rescued us," Revan said, remembering his face on the Star Forge docking bay.

His eyes were a piercing brown, the color of Deralian wheat. "What do you remember, Poll—Revan?"

She closed her eyes. "I don't want to remember." There was a metal weight on her neck, like a collar, lumpy underneath the suit. Her muscles ached and something was wrong with her legs. Or her spine...she couldn't feel them. Revan reached for the Force to heal herself but there was only a cold empty place where it should be.

"Something's...wrong with me, Carth. I can't feel the Force!" She tried to sit up but the effort left her gasping and her legs were so numb, only small twinges of pain let her know that the nerves weren't entirely dead. Around them, the Hawk's engines hummed. They were going somewhere—but where? "Tell Bastila," she said. "Tell her I can't feel the Force—she—and the others have to help me!" Voice rising now, on the brink of hysteria. She'd been afraid of feeling this much fear before; it fed the Dark side just as much as anger or passion—but now it seemed to make no difference.

"You killed Bastila," her lover said bluntly. "And the others. Jolee. Juhani. And you made Zaalbar kill Mission. You were Darth Revan again and you killed them. You killed Bastila last, when she tried to kill me on the Star Forge...but you cried when you did it and said you were sorry. I thought you were sorry...I told you I'd save you, Revan, I always told you I'd save you. Even from yourself."

_Bastila's face, twisted with hate and fury and a bolt of lightening reaching out from her fingers at Carth...fingers that had blackened with red fire as Revan's own power leaped between them. Bastila falling and begging for mercy again. Predictable mercy. Revan had none left. _

"I—I told you that I was sorry," she whispered, closing her eyes again. This hurt, the remembering. "She mocked me and tried to hurt you."

Carth sat at her side, unsnapping the seals of the bacta suit. His voice shook a little. "We'll talk about it later. Right now, we need to get you out of this suit. We're going to Kashyyyk for a little while, to...recover." He tried for a comforting grin but it came out like a rictus on his too-sensitive face. He tugged at the suit's legs and it unpeeled. His eyes looked away and his face was still fixed in that mockery of a smile.

Revan peered down at herself. Selkath-belly white skin, slick from the healing bacta oil, and she was so thin now she could count her ribs. She pulled the rest of the suit off herself, trembling a little with the effort, and shivered as the air hit her exposed skin. The face last. She ran her hand over her features--they seemed intact. Her fingers caught on the piece of heavy cold metal around her neck. The edges were sunk in her skin as if it had grown there. "What is this?" she asked him.

"Something we picked up from Suvam Tan on Yavin," Carth said. "It...blocks force powers."

"Why would you—" Revan shivered again, remembering how good it felt, the whisper and then the rush as the lightning and the red fire leapt from her hand and guided her blades. The thrill of bending a mind and feeling it obey, exultation at making your enemies cower, lost in their mind's own torments...As if he sensed her thoughts from her expression Carth got up and turned away, facing the door.

"You can't get it off," he said, even as her fingers were fumbling to find the catch in the metal. "The sensors say you've recovered enough to move around. Get dressed. Move around. We'll be on the bridge when you're ready to talk, Canderous, Zaalbar and I."

She was sitting up now, looking down at her skin and her arms. Dark veins under the surface like traces of patterns in some long-forgotten tongue. She'd looked like this before, and thought it beautiful. Now it seemed ugly and wrong and he wouldn't look at her. "Carth!" she called frantically, pleading for reassurance. No matter how bad it was, he was always there for her—why was he looking away now?

"I love you, Revan," he said roughly, staring at the door lock. The door opened and he walked away from her without a backwards glance.

There were no mirrors in the room but a ship is made of metal and there are always some surfaces polished enough to hold a reflection. Revan sat there for a long time staring at hers in the watery glow of the medical sensor's container module. Skin so white it looked gray, and yellow eyes that burned sadly out of a face mottled with the ravages of the dark side. The face that drove armies, the face under the mask. Her old face, back again like a bad ghost. Her eyes had been green when Carth first admired them on Taris, but they weren't now. Someone had lopped off her topknot and her hair grew in an uneven matted stubble. Grew in red, not black.

_Polla's hair was black. Not mine. I dyed it, every time the roots grew in I dyed it and I never thought about why._

Eventually, she toddled over to the neatly folded clothes in a pile on the examination bench and pulled them on. Her old clothes, a white jumpsuit and a red vest. They'd left a jedi robe for her too, but she ignored that. No weapons and no armor. The door slid open under her shaking fingers and she made her way to the bridge. A few times she fell down on legs that barely seemed like legs anymore at all, but no one came to help her. Revan gritted her teeth and stumbled slowly down the hall.

"Master?" HK's mechanical voice sounded almost concerned as he watched her from the weapons console on the side of the bridge. Zaalbar grunted a terse acknowledgement and Canderous smiled at her. True welcome in that smile, but even he had something in his eyes that looked like accusation or regret. Revan leaned against the doorframe, gasping with the effort.

"I—need to sit down." Her teeth were chattering a little, even though the temperature controls of the ship had been adjusted long ago to the the warm side of the standard worlds. Carth was piloting--seemingly absorbed completely--and didn't even look up from his controls.

Zaalbar got up from his bench and came to her, steadying her shoulders with his great furry paws. The strength of them was enough to crush bones and tear limbs, but he was gentle and helped her to the bench to sit beside him. "You should have killed me," she whispered to him in Kashyyyk, throat aching with the effort of making the proper noises. "I wanted you to kill me then, you know. Why didn't you?"

"Trepidation: the Master is talking about ending her own life, just as the psychological profiles we ran suggested." HK said from his corner of the room. They'd managed to get a restraining bolt on him somehow, Revan saw now—and he'd been disarmed.

"I could not kill you, Polla Organa. My life debt would not allow it." Zaalbar looked at the floor mournfully.

"I made you kill her," she whispered in Basic. "Mission was like a daughter to you."

"Enough." The Mandalorian's voice was cold. "Among my people war is the point of itself but this is different. The Republic won. Those that fell, we will mourn in their proper time. We all lived. Now we will deal with that."

"Why did you let me live?" Revan said again, this time to all of them. Her voice shook.

"We all have our reasons," Canderous said. "Perhaps they aren't all the same reasons, but they coincide. I promised to serve you and so I will. No matter what you do. And you know what the others think."

"Why, Carth?" She was crying now softly and hopelessly. "You had no reason to save me."

"I saved the galaxy," he said, not looking up from his controls. "Bastila's Battle Meditation will never be used against the Republic, the Star Forge is destroyed and you...you...are not Darth Revan. Not anymore. I know that. I won't let you be Darth Revan. Never again."

"Are we going to Coruscant then? After Kashyyyk? I should—go before the Senate and atone for my crimes," she said, wondering even as she said it if that was what she wanted to do.

"Negative, Master. We will first complete the repairs on your body and mind. Once you are restored, we shall flee Republic space and journey to the Outer Rim. Among the former Mandalorian worlds Canderous has assured us that there are several where even people of our repute can disappear quite effectively. The meatbags argue about many of the details, Master; but on a few points they all agree. The preservation of your life and the avoidance of the Republic are our primary objectives."

"They think we're dead," Zaalbar growled. "They think we're heroes, but they also think we're dead. It is easier this way."

Revan frowned. "Why do we avoid the Republic? I have no love for the Jedi, but—we fought for their side...once...I think before I—"

_Bastila's mocking words and her own anger._ _Come with me and we shall rule the galaxy_. "Before I—I'm sorry..." Futile, the attempt for excuses, but she made them anyway.

_It's not me you have to apologize to._

Jolee's words in her head, mocking in death just as he always was in life.

"I want them to remember you as a hero," Carth said. Zaalbar and Canderous met her eyes squarely and unflinching, but Carth still wouldn't look at her. The ship was on autopilot now, she could tell by the hum of the turbines shifting with a precision that no human pilot could match but still he stared at those controls as if they were maneuvering through a nest of Sith fighters and asteroids all at once. "They owe you that much. And Bastila too. The war is won, does it matter if they think you and Bastila saved them or not? You killed Malak, the disrupter shield went down, the Star Forge was destroyed...does it matter so much if we're dead heroes or live traitors?"

"You're not a traitor, Captain Onasi." She tried to keep her voice even.

He laughed, bitterly. "I don't like what the Council did to you any more than you do, I just wish...that somehow the others...if I hadn't run away from you on that damned planet, I could have convinced Mission to stay quiet...I could have saved her at least..."

Revan stiffened. Even the slant of his shoulders across the room in the Captain's chair were like an accusation. "I wish I hadn't killed them too," she said. "I dreamed about them. I dreamed about them a lot."

"We know," Canderous said shortly. "You talk in your sleep."

Chimes and a beeping noise sounded from the navigator's console. Zaalbar got up and slid his oversized bulk awkwardly into a chair designed for a much smaller body. "T-3's picked up inquiries from Renin Station," he grunted. "The Republic wants to know our destination in this part of the sector. It's been closed to casual travel since my people threw out those murdering Czerka slavers." As quickly as the wookiee spoke, HK translated. Carth had picked up the basics of Shryiiwook, but Canderous was bad at languages and only knew a few words of it.

"Well, here we go," Carth muttered. "Let's hope Suvam Tan wasn't lying about those codes."

"Codes?" Revan echoed. "What codes?" She clinched her fists feeling useless. "Turn me in," she begged. "_Please_, just end this."

"No," Carth said angrily. He was tapping at the keyboard rapidly, and then glanced back at them all, frowning. "They want visual confirmation. Damn....Zaalbar?"

"I'll do it," the wookiee growled and slid out from the navigator's chair, making for the communications room at the heart of the ship. In happier times that was where they'd all gathered.

"He's posing as a former slave named Dreeewwooowr that we're returning to his homeworld," Carth explained. "We already gotten permission from Freyyrr to land there, but the Republic is being stodgy about access to the system. Kashyyyk is a protected world now since the rebellion."

Revan frowned. "Who are we supposed to be? Noble citizens of the galaxy?"

He glanced back at her finally, a ghost of a smile on his face like an echo of an old memory. "You're Numu Ran, a noble lady from Alderaan, and I'm Jadro Hin, your loyal protector. Cand' is our hired muscle, a Mandalorian named Emilio Irod. He has quite a reputation in the Core, but since he's reformed he's been fighting the slavers...for the right price..." He shrugged. "It was the best Suvam Tan could do at short notice. HK needs to keep out of sight, and T-3's been hardwired into the Hawk's console to keep tabs on the false registration programs we're broadcasting--and watch the net to see if anyone starts looking for our real selves. So far, the newsvids are quiet. They all think we're dead." He grimaced. "I hope it stays that way."

"They'll feel with the force that I live," Revan said. "The Jedi and the Sith will know."

Canderous snorted. "Blast your Force. They haven't caught on yet. There's a memorial statue being built of you and Bastila on the ruins of Dantooine, and Master Vrook has been on broadcasts across the Core giving speeches about your case proving the nobility and purpose of the Jedi order. Believe me, if they know you live—which I doubt, you've been so close to dead for over a month now that there was barely any difference—you'd be an embarrassment to them."

"A statue..." Revan's lips twisted. Then she frowned again. "Numu? Banthu fodder, wasn't 'Polla Organa' bad enough?"

"Suvam Tan has a funny sense of humor. You'd know what Numu means in Aldaraan wouldn't you?" Carth was looking at her again, and there was something close to normalcy in his eyes. She drew comfort from it.

"Numu means...Dark Lady, sort of. My parents took me to Aldaraan once...when I was—when I—," her voice faltered and she closed her eyes. Whose parents, hers or Polla's? "I-I still don't always know which memories are mine and which are the ones they implanted," she said angrily.

Carth shifted uncomfortably. "We've been trying to look into that as well. Quietly. Revan's—your—background, I mean. And Polla's. Who was she? Is she still alive? Did she exist at all? But you have to understand--most of it seems to be offline in guarded vaults somewhere, probably on Coruscant. Sealed completely."

"I—I want to know. Someday." She closed her eyes. "Turn me in and perhaps they'll tell me before they execute me or mindwipe me again. Isn't that safer, for us all?"

"We went through all of this when you slept," Canderous said implacably. "I'd insult your intelligence if I said the idea wasn't considered. But no. We've all earned our chance at a better life. So we're going to take it. And if you have some problem with that Revan, you'll have to deal with me."

"And me," Carth said softly.

"Objection: it is not appropriate to address Lord Revan in such a manner. Master, I would assist you if you could convince them to remove my restraining bolt, but unhappily all of my personal combat functions are inoperative at the moment . Perhaps later we can betray the meatheads and do some killing?"

"Query: how did they restrain you?" She fell into her old habit of talking to the droid automatically

_Old habit from when I made him or when I found him again?__ Was there a difference?_

"Response: They did not, could not do such a thing, Master. It was you who imposed these restrictions on me, shortly before docking on the Star Forge."

"Why would I have restricted your ability to kill?" Revan shook her head. "I can't remember..."

Canderous coughed. "You were afraid he'd kill Zaalbar while we dealt with Malak. Zaalbar was close to breaking down, and...you didn't want to lose him."

"Bastila said I was mawkishly sentimental." Revan's face twisted. She remembered now.

Canderous spat. "As a Dark Jedi, she was as bad as Malak. I don't know much about your force and this light and dark business, but even as Darth Revan again you showed more sense than both of them. What sort of strategy did Malak have, sending all of his forces after you once we'd landed on the Star Forge? Even _Revan_ couldn't have lived through a simple depressurization....And Bastila...when you were reprogramming HK, she asked me what she could do to make me follow her as unquestioningly as I did you?" He shook his head. "I don't want you to have any guilt about her death, she'd have killed you eventually if you hadn't blasted her to oblivion regardless."

Revan winced. "It was my fault," she muttered. "Bastila was young and sheltered. I should have...I could have...if I hadn't—."

"It was the Council's fault." Carth stood up and came over to her, sitting almost hesitantly at her side on the bench. "She was young and you were...you did your best."

Revan closed her eyes. "My best. I destroyed the kolto on Manaan. I caused a civil war on Kashyyyk. I killed our friends. I led Bastila down the dark path. I betrayed you all..."

"You saved my people from the Czerka," Zaalbar growled from the doorway. "Even if there was no life debt already between us, I would have sworn one to you again for that." His dark eyes were blank behind matted fur. "We're cleared for landing." The wookiee continued. "As Mission would have said, they bought our story. Hook, line and tractor beam."

Revan nodded, trying not to flinch under his gaze. "I miss her," she said quietly, edges of tears in her eyes again. Carth put a cautious hand on her shoulder and she leaned into him. He smelled like spice and space oil, comforting and familiar. In the background, HK translated Zaalbar's words for Canderous. Carth's arms tightened around her and she lifted her chin, meeting his eyes.

"You saved my son, and Yuthura Ban on Korriban," he said quietly, his eyes scanning her face. "And all those other kids. You did that even after you knew the truth about being Revan. You found Griff—worthless wretch that he is. You brought water to the Sand People on Tatooine and reconciled Bastila with her mother. On Taris you saved hundreds from certain death with the rakghoul serum and showed the people of the Undercity the way to their Promised Land. On Manaan you saved the Selkath from the Sith. On Dantooine you brought peace between two warring families. And in the end, Revan, you renounced the Dark Side. By doing that, you saved us all." Lightly his finger traced her eyebrow. "You're still the woman I fell in love with."

Revan closed her eyes, better not to see the flicker of doubt in his. Her hands were curled against his chest, and she moved them to the collar at her neck. Around it her skin pulsed in protest, and the weight of it burned. "I saved you all from me. It's fine," she said quietly. "I understand. I don't trust myself either."

* * *

Zaalbar was a fair pilot and took over the controls. Carth took her back to her cabin and sat with her for a time, holding her hand. "Why do I still look like this?" she asked him quietly. "I look like a sith lord." 

"We don't know," he said hesitantly. "You—I think it's getting better a little. The dark lines have faded, and your hair is coming in again. Coming in red." He smiled. "I like redheads. At first, it just fell out in patches." His hand tightened on hers. "I don't care what you look like, you're still the woman I love."

"I feel dead inside," she said. "With the force gone, I'm blind. I feel like I'm starving somehow, like it was feeding me and now it's gone."

He grinned at her, a shadow of his old careless pilot's grin, the one he'd used when they slipped through the Sith blockade on Taris. "Welcome to the land of us mortals, milady," he said. "Most of us get by just fine without the use of the force. And may I remind you; the force didn't stop Darth Bandon or Calo Nord. We used plasma grenades for that. Plasma and adhesive, nothing better in a tough fight. I taught you that, soldier."

Revan laughed faintly. "I used thermal detonators on Malak. And without the vorpine shielding I'd have been dead a dozen times over. She frowned again. "Malak—at the end he asked me to take him back. I remembered things then, things about him and me. We grew up together you know, and he was—we were—."

"Shhh," his hand traced the back of her palm, running a finger down the web of dark lines that ran just beneath the skin. "We all have our pasts." His voice changed, just a little. Uncertainty in it now, and a little insecurity. "Why didn't you take him up on that?"

She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Her body was so tired now, tired and weak as a two-day old gizka. "I wanted to," she said honestly. She owed Carth Onasi that much. "But we had different plans for the sith, and I knew he'd never agree to mine. He'd try and kill me, it was inevitable. Leaving both him and Bastila both alive would have been like harboring a nest of kirath vipers. I was fonder of him, but I needed her more."

_Needed her to win._

"You go away from me when you talk like that." Carth pulled his hand away.

"I don't know myself, Carth," she said bitterly. "Not anymore. I wonder if the old Revan ever did."

"What were your plans for the Sith?" There was no expression in his voice. She opened her eyes again and looked at him, saw him flinch under the gaze that was no longer quite human. Revan grimaced. "I wanted to change them, once I'd taken my revenge on the Jedi, Carth. The Republic was--I thought--only an obstacle. I thought what mattered was the force and the things people did trying to serve one side of it or the other. Jolee was the smartest one of us about that, I always thought...he—always said the force was more than just good or evil."

_Always said that up until the end.__ In the end he picked a side, and I killed him for it._

Revan swallowed hard. "I hate the Council, Carth. I can't help that. I tried to think of them mercifully for so long...but what they did to me...no one is without a chance for redemption they say--but did they try and redeem me? No. They wiped my mind and destroyed it. They should have let me die. They should have talked to me, explained things to me, they should have done something—anything but what they did."

"I know." His voice was sad. "Revan. I don't forgive them either, but there's something I've learned, working with Canderous these past few months. You don't always have to forgive your enemies, but sometimes you do need to just walk away. Call it a draw. Go live your life. That's all I want to do now and I want you to be a part of it. I hope...you can let this go."

She smiled wanly up at him. "I promise to try. If they let me." Her voice broke and she wiped her eyes. "Thank you for giving me the chance."

_You always were a fool Carth. But I love you._


	2. Big Trees

Disclaimer: See Previous

12/2004 Continuity edit. A few small changes.

* * *

**Chapter Two / Big Trees**

_Six Kashyyyk weeks later._

"You're dead," Revan said accusingly to Jolee's back. The old man was bending over some plants in his garden, humming an old song under his breath.

"And you've fallen asleep in the grass again, kid. I know Canderous set up mines to guard the camp perimeter, but mines won't keep out kessla beetles and jrysh snakes. If you have a rash when you wake up, don't complain to me." He glanced back at her, a gleam of mischief in his old dark eyes. "Considering how little you're wearing I wouldn't be surprised if you get bit in some unmentionable places. And I'm not around to heal you anymore."

Revan scratched her stomach, frowning. Even in the dream her skin itched. He was probably right, she was a fool to be sleeping outside in the Shadowlands in wearing only three strips of cloth, but she was so hot today she felt like she was sweating through her clothes. This was the first time she'd dreamed of Jolee since she woke to find everything changed, and she was damned if she wasn't going to ask him more questions. Even if he wasn't real, Jolee comforted her.

"Are you real?"

"Depends what you mean," he said. "Remember that test the old coot gave you in the tomb? What did he say at the end?"

"The Sith never die," she said. "I suppose the Order has some similar myth?"

"You saw Ajunta Pall for yourself, kid."

"He vanished in a glow of light, are you going to do that too?"

"You want me to go away?"

"No," Revan muttered, picking at the scab on her collarbone. In her dream the metal collar cut into her skin like a blade and the flesh around it was puckered and scarred. There was wrongness in it. "I miss the force," she said finally.

"Don't say that to Carth again, he's finally starting to look happy. Young love--it's a wonderful thing."

"You see them? You see all of us? You—am I going crazy or are you here Jolee?"

The old man sighed and abandoned his garden. "You're not going to rest until we talk about this, are you?" he said. "The force is in all things, and I am part of the force now. There is no death, there is the force? Did they ever teach you anything at the Academy Revan? You went there twice. Bacca spit, I'd think you would have at least learned the Code."

"Through the force my chains are broken," she answered him mockingly.

Jolee shrugged. "If you like. I guess that's true too, as far as it goes."

"Why you? Not that I'm not happy to see you; but why you and not...the others?"

"Is there someone you'd rather see, child?" Jolee's image flickered for a moment, and there was Juhani, Bastila, Malak, and Mission, all looking back at her with various expressions ranging from hatred to fear to loss on their faces. "I think," the robed figure said again, resolving itself back into Jolee, "that I'm the only one who really didn't mind dying. I was an old man, with an old man's aches and memories. The others...had plans, you know. You put a stop to them."

"What can I do?" Revan asked him hopelessly. "You think I don't remember that every minute of every day? If I could trade my life for theirs, I would. If I could do it differently I would. If I could have let Bastila go that day on top of the Temple--but I needed her. We needed her. If you had all just understood that...."

"What I understood that day was that you'd turned to the Dark Side. You had to be stopped," Jolee said flatly. "I knew you were too strong for me to kill but that didn't matter. It was important, kid. Stopping the Star Forge was important. Don't forget that."

"I did stop it," Revan said dully. "Just not in the way it was supposed to happen."

"Yep, you did. Congratulations. Do you want a medal? You haven't had the medal dream in nearly a week. I'm still trying to decide if that's a sign of your late-blooming maturity, or just apathetic depression. I'll let you know when I figure it out."

"I hate you old man," Revan said, staring up at the trees above. Big blue butterflies flew through them, not indigenous to Kashyyyk. On Deralia there were butterflies like that, she thought. Maybe. Revan frowned. Somewhere far off, a child's voice sang a scrap of doggerel, familiar, like a memory.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" Carth looked around them. His voice was extremely dubious. It was near dusk in the Shadowlands and the night-blooming flowers whispered on dangling vines through the branches. A few tach hopped by, but nothing bigger.

_That's a relief._

"I'm sure," Revan said, trying to sound resolute. Around them their wookiee escort grumbled at the delay. The force field that had once blocked the path further into the forest--the one Jolee could twist with a simple wave of his hand--had been blasted to pieces by well-placed bowcaster bolts months ago. Moss grew over the shattered remains. The night air was chill and Revan turned up the controls on her body armor. She was freezing again. Her body seemed to flash between extremes of hot and cold independently of the weather. The med droid in the old Czerka lab said she was running a fever.

Somewhere off in the distance, underbrush rustled menacingly. Kinrath probably, they'd brought plenty of antivenom although, as everywhere in the known worlds, medpacks had dwindled to be a thing of the past. She hoped they'd brought enough people to scare anything really dangerous away.

Freyyrr growled at her. "My people will take you to the grove, Savior Polla-Revan, but we will not enter it. It is a dark place."

The wookiees loved her, former Sith Lord or not. Most of them didn't know what it meant anyway, although several had offered cures for her strange skin affliction. Zaalbar hadn't mentioned Mission to them as far as she knew, but she wasn't sure if they'd care. A twi'lek was no true child of the forest and there'd been many twi'lek slavers in the bad old days.

Zaalbar himself was silent; hiding whatever thoughts he had under that thick mat of hair. Canderous was deep in conversation with one of the hunters near the front of their pack; HK at his side translating both sides of the conversation. She listened with half an ear in case the droid said anything reprehensibly offensive to either side.

"Translation," HK said in Shryiiwook, "The Mandalorian does not speak for all of his people, and he does agree with you that those of his kind that hunted and trapped in your forests deserved their swift and untimely deaths. He is not typical of his race and lately has shown a regrettable tendency towards sentiment. However, since you both share an unreasonable fondness for all of this fetid organic matter that surrounds us, I can assume you will not find his statements offensive..."

"HK!" Revan called out. "Cease the interjections and just translate their words. That's an order."

"I comply, Master," the droid said sulkily.

"I'd feel better if you'd carry a weapon," Carth said to her.

She laughed. "I feel naked without one, to be honest but I—I don't want to kill anything Cath. Not even a tach."

"You've been training with Zaalbar," he pointed out.

"Wooden sticks only, and he beats me every time. Do you want to see my bruises again?"

"You're pushing yourself, physically, you still aren't well."

"You said I look better," Revan said accusingly, trying to ignore the chills that ran up and down her spine and the cold sweat pooling at the backs of her knees.

"You're not so pale," he agreed, a faint smile on his face. "I like the orange and purple bruise on your thigh, it's very attractive by oil light in the cabin...it looks like a map of Telos, if you get the right angle on it..."

She punched him, as hard as she could in the side, bruising her fingers on his body armor. He barely flinched. "You never were any good at hand to hand, I could show you some tricks later, maybe."

Carth was being carefully light. He hated this idea. She hadn't told him about all of it, she didn't want to quash anyone's hopes in case it didn't work. If it did, she hoped she'd be able to erase some of the doubts she saw in his eyes sometimes when he thought she wasn't paying attention. Carth had been spending a lot of time up in the ship, these past few weeks, glued to the net. Searching for Dustil, she hoped. If possible, she wanted to reunite those two, despite his claims that it would be too dangerous. It would make him happy and she wanted that. No word on our survival, he'd told her. Not even a whisper of a rumor.

The Republican Senate had named holidays after them all, even T-3 and HK. The last was really mind-boggling when she thought about it, but she tried not to think about much of anything outside the forest and Carth...and this one other thing. This shadow or clue or whatever it was her former self had left on Kashyyyk. Why? Had she known what the Jedi would do? Or was it simply a reprogrammed guard dog, meant to lock this piece of the Star Map away from all prying eyes?

"We're here," Freyyrr groaned. More rustling from the underbrush. Several of the wookiees slipped away and she could hear the sounds of a rousing fight echoing through the trees. Whatever it was roared in pain and she shivered involuntarily.

"You'll tell me again," Canderous said testily, "why we had to come here at night?"

"The bigger game sleep at night," Revan said sweetly. "Besides, the wookiees were busy this morning when I asked them. They chose the time, not me."

"I hope you know what you're doing, Revan," he said.

"Makes two of us," Carth muttered holding her arm tightly as the three of them approached the ancient computer console. To their right, the petals of the Star Map were closed and black. Standing behind them, HK shone a light from his sensor on the screen and Revan blinked at the sudden harshness of it. Truth was, bright lights hurt her eyes now, but she would sooner roll in honey on a banthykk nest than admit that.

Zaalbar shifted uncomfortably at the edge of the clearing, obviously wishing he could join the hunters. She knew better than to insult him by suggesting he go ahead and do that. And besides...part of this was for him. _If it worked.__  
_  
She walked to the computer, staring at the platform where the hologram of the Rakata had once been, not so long ago. Her first star map off Dantooine, and she'd come here with Bastila and Jolee. _Bastila hacked her way through the walls of kinrath willingly enough, but screamed every time she saw a bug too small to kill with a saber._ Revan smiled a little at the memory. That Bastila had her issues, but she'd been a friend.

_A friend that lied to you,_ her inner voice mocked. _Remember how pale she got when you mentioned Revan to that computer? How quickly she tried to change the subject. You were blind not to notice...  
_  
Behind her, Canderous sniffed disdainfully. "This is the vaunted Rakata technology? This piece of metal? It doesn't look like much."

Revan ignored him. She put her hands flat on the console. "Computer. Acknowledge and verify my identity."

Nothing happened.

Behind her Zaalbar growled. "They told me it's been dead since you left the time before Polla Organa. Nothing has changed. It's broken."

"No," she said softly. "I—I had a dream about it. I ... set a password. Don't laugh, please."

"Laugh?" Carth said incredulously. "Yes, your former self was great at jokes, I bet the one you told in Dreshdae to those Sith was only the beginnings of your repertoire."

"I liked that joke," Canderous said. "Although, if the Mandalorian had just shot them both it would have been more realistic..."

"It's a song," she snapped. "I think I made it up. I'm hoping I was very young when I did so. It isn't very good."

"Go ahead, beautiful, sing for us." Carth patted her arm reassuringly and then stepped back a little. His blasters were already drawn and ready to shoot something. A wandering tach, pack of kinrath, her, the computer—Revan wasn't sure. She didn't want to think about it too much.

"Computer," she said, and began to sing.

"The Jedi are wise and good but they wear ugly hoods.  
"The Sith are ugly and mean, but their amour gleams.  
When I grow up I want to be,  
The Ruler of the Galaxy."

A holographic image flickered to life and bright lights flickered across her face. The familiar bulbous Rakata. "Identity confirmed. Accessing files," the computer said. "How may I serve you, Lord Revan?"

"The Jedi wiped my mind. Did I anticipate this?"

"You did not make me privy to your thoughts, Lord Revan. However, there are several files, which relate to your life history that are accessible only by the use of this password. Supposition: I can think of no other reason for their inclusion as they do not pertain to the Star Forge, the force, or battle tactics."

She frowned. "Are there other passwords?"

"For parts of my memory core, yes. You have, however, activated the primary access code and all of those areas are also available to you."

She took a deep breath; her hands were sweaty and shaking. _So simple, after all this time.__ Do I really want to know?  
_  
"W-why did I partition the data?" Her voice shook and Carth's hand was back on her shoulder again. He squeezed it lightly.

"I cannot say. There are several subdirectories. For example, you partitioned a portion of my files to be accessible by someone named "Malak" using the password "Loverboy." Carth's hand retreated again and she heard him mutter softly under his breath.

_He's still jealous of a dead man. _The thought made her sad.

"May I download your files?"

"They are yours to do with as you wish, but I would caution you against sharing all of them with your companions. Some of the files contain information that most of the galaxy would be happier not knowing. Knowledge can be dangerous."

"So I've learned," she muttered. "Is that information marked in any way?"

"It is tagged as 'hazardous to sentient life'."

She nodded. "At this time, I do not wish to access any of the data that is marked hazardous to sentient life. Please download all information pertaining to my personal life into this droid's receptacle." HK glided forward. A violet beam of light shot forth from the platform, and entered his central cortex.

"A most unusual feeling Master," the droid commented. "Regrettably it's encrypted and I cannot access the data within."

"I thought it might be," she muttered. "There's another verse to the song. We'll deal with it later."

"I can't wait," Carth said behind her.

_Bitterness in his voice.__ Heart on his sleeve. Damn him._

"Computer," Revan said. "Do you have any information on my physical condition?"

Whorls of light flickered around her. "You are cut off from the thing you call the force, Lord Revan. Some sort of disrupter field emanates from that metal ring around your neck. I would advise removing it as soon as possible."

"And if I do not?"

"You'll die. Your life functions will cease much earlier than the normal span of one of your species. Perhaps...in another three of your standard months."

The men cursed softly behind her. Revan nodded.

_I thought as much, I can feel it like poison in my bones.  
_  
"Computer, is there a way to remove the affinity to the Force from my body without shortening my lifespan?"

"Affirmative, Lord Revan. Removal of all neural function would effectively curb your force affinity. A respiration unit would be advised, and additional nutrition and evacuatory systems would be needed to sustain life. Would you like me to perform this operation at this time?"

_"No!"_ Her voice rang across the clearing, and there were tears on her cheeks. She could feel Carth's breath on her neck, close enough to touch, but he wasn't touching her.

_Somehow that hurts as much as anything else._

"Computer, can you analyze the force patterns within me?"

"Clarify."

"Can you tell if they are...from the dark or the light?"

"You were always confusing in your distinctions, Lord Revan. There is no dark or light. What you choose to do is entirely up to you."

"That's what I used to believe," she said softly. "But I killed people. People I loved when they stood in my way."

"You achieved the ends you required. Sacrifice is a part of leadership."

"I—enjoyed it," she said softly in Rakata. "Please continue our discussion in this tongue."

"As you wish," the ancient computer said in the language of its builders. "When you first came to me you were full of queries about morality and the right of things. However as time passed, you appeared less concerned. Supposition. You seemed more content in those later visits."

"What are you doing?" hissed Carth behind her.

"The files I am accessing are untranslatable," she said in Basic.

"Yeah, right," muttered Canderous. "Go ahead, have your private conversation. We trust you...don't we Carth?"

Carth was silent, but she felt his disapproval like a laser on the back of her neck.

_I used to be such a good liar once. Polla was a good liar. Revan must have been. What's happened to me?_

"Computer, I have—concerns that I will enjoy the force and I do not wish to have it rule me. Do you have any suggestions?"

"The Jedi order practice several levels of discipline to combat this danger. Their work in this field is far more advanced than anything my people ever achieved, even though it based on very simple tenets. There is no passion, there is peace..."

"I know the code, cease repeating it. Please."

"As you wish."

"Computer. When I first came here, why did you speak to me?"

"You were the first subject I had seen a thousand standard rotations that exhibited the proper characteristics."

"What were those characteristics?"

"Error. I am not able to access that file. It is possible that it was locked by a previous user or has been corrupted. However, I do have holographic recordings of our first and all subsequent meetings, would you like to access these?"

Revan took a deep breath. "Download them into this droid. Locked by me? Or by a user, previous to me?"

" I cannot say. Hypothesis. Since this the information is hazardous, I assume it was locked approximately 1,000 of your standard years ago."

Revan frowned. "Why would you assume that?"

"Your old self was most interested in those files."

Revan winced. "A thousand years ago--the age of the Sith," she muttered. "So this has all happened before. Do you have information about that Empire?"

"Clarify."

"No, anything—everything--you have on the Sith and the Jedi, please. Download it now into the droid."

"Some of this information falls under the category of hazardous."

She closed her eyes. _Breathe deeply,_ Bastila had said, let _your mind be an empty cup and feel the Force flow within and around you. See it in all things_. Like an echo, someone else's voice saying the same thing, years ago, to a much smaller Revan. The child's voice haunted her again.

_When I grow up I want to be,  
The Ruler of the Galaxy._

_I was for a few years or so, little girl, and it sucked like a space privy._

"I don't want to see any of the hazardous information. Computer: delete all files marked as hazardous...no—wait. Who marked them as hazardous?"

"That information is not available. Those files are not accessible to be deleted."

"Can you overwrite them with something else?"

"Possible. There is a 0.09 chance of corruption."

"Corruption would entail what, exactly?"

"It is difficult to predict. In the most probable circumstance, the data would be inaccessible to future users, but the overwriting information would remain intact."

Behind her Carth shifted impatiently. "Fine," Revan said. _In pazaak I'd be fool not to take those odds._ "Download the information I requested into the droid, except what is marked hazardous, and overwrite the hazardous data with this."

She pulled something out from her pocket, a simple disc that shimmered in the light. She'd found it yesterday, in one of the boxes from the Hawk. Mission's box, but she'd seen it before. _Clever girl picked my pocket back on Korriban._ The thought made her less sad this time around.

"Place the holocron on the console," the computer said.

"And speak basic."

"Place the holocron on the console," the computer said in standard.

"What is that?" Carth's breath was warm on her neck. She tried to ignore the pointed thing poking into the back of her spine. It felt like a blaster.

"I found it yesterday," she said. "It's a holocron from the Sith tombs on Korriban, I thought I'd given it to Uthar, for prestige—I had so much useless stuff to give him I never noticed it was missing but..."

Blue light played over the holocron and the Rakatan's presence shifted and blurred.

"Hello!" A familiar voice sang out. "This is Mission Vao and this is my life! Ack, this thing hurts, I hope Polla doesn't get mad when she finds out I swiped this.... but I figured, maybe if Griff saw what things were like for me growing up, maybe he'd turn over a new leaf. I'm gonna send it to him as soon as we get done with this Star Forge thing. I figure...we'll all be heroes of the galaxy then, and he'll be easy to track down. We'll probably be rich too, so I bet he'll hit me up for cash just as soon as we...do this save-the-galaxy thing...wow it sure feels funny having my mind probed like this. It's like an evil Jedi thing to do, except this is just simple easy stuff like computers. I always thought these things were really cool..." Her voice trailed off for a moment and the figure got up from its cross-legged position on the platform.

"Hey!" said Mission, peering out at them. "I can see you guys! This is really weird, where are we? I don't remember the ship landing or anything. Is that Big Z over there?"

Zaalbar was muttering something to himself that sounded like a string of prayers, or curses.

_I hope they're prayers._

"I don't know whether to kill you or hug for this one," Carth said in her ear. "Is it really her?"

"No," Revan said sadly. "It's like a picture of her, a complete picture. That's what a holocron is ...but that picture can access the nets. She can have a sort of life there--and Zaalbar is here. It was all I could do Carth, to make up for...things."

"I don't know if you've thought this through," Carth said.

Zaalbar and Mission were jabbering so fast at each other that Revan could hardly follow them. She watched the ghostly image of the twi'lek's face as it changed from joy to disbelief and realized, with a pang, exactly what he was telling her.

_The truth of course.__ Oh come on Zaalbar would a lie have hurt her?_

"You killed me, Polla? You had Big Z kill me and then you went all Dark Sith Lord again?" Mission's voice was incredulous. "It just doesn't sound like you, no way."

"Mission," Revan's voice was strained, even in her own ears. "You're not...just you. You have information there, can you access it?"

The girl's face went blank for a moment. "Sure I can, wow...there's a lot here..."

"Is there anything there that you would deem hazardous to sentient life? Do you still have a classification for those files?"

"There's a bunch of stuff that was overwritten...by me...nope--although I don't know, what the classification hazardous really means...there's lots of stuff here that could be hazardous I think—information on weapons, bio-seeding...and ewww.... Polla!"

"What is it?"

"I don't think you want me to show you, not in front of Carth. I always wondered about whether you and Malak...I mean there were all these jokes about you two back when you know...but...uh, there's some holos here and...."

"Delete them," Revan muttered. "Delete everything about Malak from your core."

"Done! Easy!" Mission chirped.

".... Mission...I'm—sorry."

"I don't remember you killing me, so it's ok, sis. You don't mind me calling you that, do you? I always thought of you that way...but you were always so, save-the-galaxy superwoman about things that I...didn't want to offend you or anything."

"I thought of you that way too," Revan said softly. "Your...predecessor had an open feed into the nets but it was one-way. He could see everything but could send nothing out. T-3 is going to try and set up a remote link through the Hawk's circuits. As much as I can Mission, I want to give you the world. All of them."

"Again," Carth muttered. "I don't think you've thought this through."

"That would be great, Polla!" Mission turned back to Zaalbar. The wookiee seemed torn between outrage and joy.

_I hope he'll settle for one or the other soon._

Revan glanced at the two men and the droid. "We should leave them," she said softly. "It's getting late and I.... I want to answer some questions about myself."

Carth looked at her flatly. "Whatever answers you find in that data I want to be there when you find them. I want to know everything about you."

A flicker of anger, and she bit her tongue. "I don't know everything about you."

He smiled painfully at her. "Only because you never ask. You used to ask me all sorts of things. Then one day, you stopped."

Canderous coughed. "I don't need to know everything, Revan, just so we're clear on that. But we need to talk about what the computer said. About you dying."

"I know," she said. "But first let's see if I deserve to live."

"You should already know, after all we've done, that you do." Carth said acidly.

She twisted her mouth, it was meant to be a smile. "I'll let you decide, Carth. How's that?"


	3. Sleeping with Fish

**Chapter 3 / Sleeping with Fish**

**Disclaimer:** not mine, etc. 12/2004 Continuity edit, standardizing formatting, etc.

XXX

Revan sat cross-legged in front of the portable console screen, scanning each page intently as it scrolled. A cup of the local tea made from kava bark sat beside her, untouched and already tepid. Across the room sat Carth. Her judge and would-be executioner. After four hours of reading she thought the possibility of executioner seemed likely, and they hadn't even reached the information on her Academy days.

Revan glanced up from the screen. "These records must be from the Jedi archives," she said quietly.

Carth frowned. "There's a lot they aren't saying. You're from Hoth--godforsaken frozen hole in the world that it is--and your name is Revan Starfire. How...appropriate. But there's almost nothing here on your parents, except that your father was a veteran in the Exar Kun wars and your mother was a botanist. A botanist on Hoth...what did she study? Ice lichen? Then they died and your mother's cousin, who was a swoop jockey, raised you. She was mixed up in the Exchange, and met an untimely end on Telos. Funny, we were at the same place in the same time for a little time. You were seven years old and I was seventeen. I guess it would have been strange if we'd met then."

"I was seven," Revan echoed, reaching for a memory that had never been. A picture of herself at a birthday party at seven, surrounded by loving parents and grandparents on Deralia.

_A lie.__ Polla's memory, not mine.  
_  
"Your cousin got in some bad business—I--I—remember that. They didn't release your name to the press, but there was a picture on the holos, little red-haired girl crying in the ashes. You were the only survivor, a huge explosion at an illegal stim lab in Shiras City."

"I was seven," Revan repeated. "Only seven but I must have known the basics about pressurized tanks. The tanks exploded. The Jedi heard me scream half a planet away when I felt all those people die. They think I didn't mean to kill them--not all of them."

"There's a debate about that. Council archives, from the time. You want to watch it?"

"I was a mass murderer at seven. The lab was on the twelfth floor of an office building. There was a child crèche on the ground level. Luckily it wasn't during working hours, but still, two hundred people died. Fifty of them were younger than I was. I was on the twelfth floor, why did I even live?"

"The Jedi records go on about that for quite some time too. I remember the news holos though, they though you'd found an air pocket or something. They dug you out from the rubble."

"I was hiding," Revan murmured. "I'd been bad again."

He looked closely at her. "You remember?"

She smiled painfully. "The first of many memories I may not want? I'd never...felt anyone die before. I'd never...killed anyone before I wanted to scare them, that was all. They were threatening Aunt Yancy. I—I—felt her die too, felt all of them die..." she curled her hands around her knees rocking back and forth. "I never wanted to feel anything like that again." Revan looked down at her hands. The dark lines mocked her. "So I—I didn't."

"You said again," Carth's voice was insistent.

"I made a swoop bike blow up once, before the race. No one was on it, but it belonged to Yancy's rival. My aunt said we'd go far with my talent and her skills."

"You said 'bad again,'" he repeated.

Revan shook her head from side to side. "No, I meant—there was a fire--I don't know. In my mother's lab. She was mad at me and she told me never to do things like that, and her voice was scared. Really scared...I didn't know parents could be scared."

"Do you remember how they died?" His voice was gentle now.

"They went away on a trip and never came back. Ice caves, maybe. There were lots of ice caves on Hoth."

"I'm going to scan the holo from the Council."

Revan shivered. "You do that. I've decided I'll skip knowing how much my doom and potential for the dark side was discussed before I had my permanent teeth."

She pulled at the metal collar around her neck again. "Carth?" she asked, several minutes later. He pulled the headsets out of his ears and tapped his screen, pausing the vid.

"What is it beautiful?"

"How do you...you do know how to get this thing off, don't you?"

"Well...yes." He said cautiously. "Revan, I'd take the collar off now if I could, you have to believe me. But I can't."

"Who can? Suvam Tan?"

"No. It's a force lock and only someone trained in the force can remove it. Revan, the rodian didn't tell me it would kill you, it's not supposed to be killing you...you have to believe I didn't know that."

"Carth?"

"We're working on it, me and Canderous. We were up half the night after you went to sleep working on it. He's with HK patching your version of Mission into our banks; Zaalbar is going to start scanning the net.... for someone that can...help. Trust me, beautiful, we went to far too much trouble to keep you alive just to throw it all away..."

"Throw it all away on a lingering painful death, that would be, wouldn't it?"

"On any kind of death Revan."

"You should take me to Coruscant."

He glared at her. "The vote to burn force sensitivity—and thanks to your computer now we know what that means—out of your mind at age seven was as follows: 201 Council members wanted you brain-dead, 23 abstained, and one Council member opposed."

"Then why am I alive?"

"They needed a consensus to act, and couldn't reach one. That's the only reason Revan. Instead you spent three years being 'reconditioned'—whatever that means--before they admitted you the Academy. You were ten years old, older than most of the other beginning students--except for one--Malak--who was twelve. You were instant companions, although they discouraged it. There's another three hundred files here referencing that...most are short."

Revan stared at her screen. Letters and images blurred. Angrily she punched in a query. Her laughter was bitter, like the taste of ashes in the back of her throat. "All 201 of those Council members died, Carth. Most of them...about five years ago in the war."

"Lots of people died in the war." His eyes were bleak. He was thinking of Morgana again, she could tell. Morgana his wife.

"A capital ship, under my command exploded. Equipment malfunction. 75 members of the Jedi Council were aboard."

"You don't know."

"I can't remember, but I know Carth. I know what it feels like, to want to kill everyone that's hurt you. I read these files before, remember? I put them there."

He looked away. "We found a trace last night, in the web. A rumor maybe, maybe it's only that. On Manaan, there's a Jedi...well--maybe not exactly a Jedi, but someone that might help you, someone that wouldn't...betray you we think."

She laughed again. "Convenient, I'm banned from Manaan. And they do retinal scans, brain scans, they run background checks...you're banned too, Carth. And Zaalbar. You were both with me when I killed their god. Maybe Canderous could get in, but not in the Hawk. Even with false landing codes, she's still a conspicuous ship.

"We're...working on it."

"Would you have saved Saul, like you saved me, Carth?"

"Don't ask me that." His mouth was set in a stubborn line.

_Why am I hurting him._

Revan clenched her fists uselessly and went back to her reading. She'd been an indifferent student, nothing remarkable, except for her attachment to Malak...

* * *

_"You're looking at me again. We're supposed to be concentrating." A scowl slid across that wide face, but his dark gray eyes were amused. _

"You've grown, I was just noticing that." Revan ducked her head to hide the blush on her cheeks. Malak had just gotten back from a mission exploring the ruins of Ossus. It had been six months since she'd seen him. At fifteen, he towered over everyone else at the Academy and his shoulders were as broad as a Bantha's. She thought he was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen.

"My mother was a heavy-worlder, of course I've grown. You've grown yourself, you're not quite as scrawny as you used to be." Malak got up, stretching lazily, tugging at the belt on his robe. "Look, if you want to be a Padawan like me, you've got to focus more. Master Shandar says you aren't really trying, and there's talk of sending you away."

"They will never send me away," she said sadly. "I asked them to, last month. They said no. Something about untrained force users being a danger to themselves..." Revan scowled. "I hate it here Malak! I hate everything about this place except you..."

His face turned serious. "Emotional attachments are dangerous. You're too young to understand."

"Easy for you to say now...when you were twelve you were crying for your mother!" Revan spat back at him, suddenly furious.

"I'm not twelve now."

Revan uncurled her legs and got up, walked over to him. Her head came up to his chest. She stood close and it made him uncomfortable. "I'm concentrating," she said sweetly. Behind her the pile of stones she'd been trying to balance all day spun in an intricate pattern. She looked up at his eyes. "You want to go to Spacer's Cantina with me," she intoned, feeling the force wash over her like a warm bath. Being around Malak made her less scared of it.

His eyes glazed a little and he began to nod. "Enough practice, we'll go to Spac—hey!" His heavy arm reached out quick as a striking snake and twisted one of hers around her back. She winced at the sharp pain and the stones faltered for a moment, then resumed their dance.

"Don't do that Rev," he said seriously. "To anyone, especially me."

She grinned cockily, ignoring the twinges in her arm. His hand was warm and strong and the gesture brought them closer together. She looked up at him with all the innocence of a schoolgirl's crush. "Do what?" She batted her lashes in a gesture she'd practiced from the holovids.

On the vids Seriina Star batted her lashes and Thanto Sunrider crushed her in his manly arms and kissed her passionately. In real life Malak's lip curled in disgust and he dropped her arm and walked away, crossing his arms and turning his back to her. She stared dreamily at the place at the base of his neck where his brown hair grew in a close-cropped spiral.

"Sometimes I worry about you," he said finally after a long uncomfortable silence. The stones kept spinning, and Revan bit her lip with the effort of keeping her focus. "I thought maybe, with me being away, you'd grow up a little, take things more seriously."

"I am serious," she said. "I don't want to be here. I don't want to be a Jedi, Malak, I never did. Would you...still like me, if I left the Order? Other people leave all the time, I mean—they go on and have lives and become whatever they want. Why can't I? And you—we'd—still be friends, wouldn't we?"

"Probably not," he said coldly with the inborn arrogance of a Coruscant senator's son. "We'd lead different lives. You'd be a cantina waitress or a swoop mechanic and I'd be off saving the galaxy. We'd have nothing in common."

"Hey!" she said indignantly. "I'd be a fighter pilot, or an Admiral...or something..." She blushed.

Malak chuckled and turned around again. The storm clouds were gone from his face now and his voice was gentle. "Rev, you can't shoot or fly your way past level one in the fighter sims. Face it, there's one talent you have and that's the force. The force is you, it shines around you like a star, can't you feel it?"

"I'm sick of it," she said meekly. The stones clattered behind her with a thud. "I just want to be—"

"You can't hide from destiny, child." Master Vandar's voice broke in, interrupting them. Revan jumped. The tiny wizened Jedi had approached so silently she hadn't realized he was there. "Malak's right. The force has some purpose with you. Accept this, and your training will truly begin."

Revan scowled, pushing a lock of red hair back behind her ear. "So you keep saying, Master," she said sullenly. "But you never say what that destiny is."

The Jedi closed his eyes for a moment, "That I cannot see," he admitted. "But you two share a fate, and that fate you must meet...after you have mastered my lessons."

"When is Vrook coming back," Revan said plaintively. "I miss him."

"Master Vrook has some important work to do on behalf of the Council elsewhere. You know this."

"I've mastered your lesson, Vandar. See?" The stones rose again and began to spin, so fast they were almost a blur.

"Master_ Vandar," Malak hissed at her. _

"The Order cares not for titles or rank," she shot back at him, lip curling a little.

Vandar ignored them both and drew his lightsaber. It hummed yellow and bright in the small circular room. Revan raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Keep the stones spinning," the old Jedi said and came towards her, moving the deadly blade in an offensive dance.

"I'm unarmed," Revan said, backing away. She wanted to cower behind Malak but he stood there impassively, remotely, watching the advance.

"Do you think I'll hurt you child?" Vandar's ears twitched, and his eyes were half-lidded. Deceptively sleepy.

"This is a test?" Her voice came out in an alarmed squeak and she willed herself not to cower. She'd seen the vids of what a particle blade could do. In the back of her mind a memory stirred: people screaming and burning and dying and pain and_—the stones fell to the floor. _

Vandar stopped his advance and looked up at her. There was something sad in his face. "Close your eyes, Revan Starfire," he said quietly. "And make the stones spin again."

Revan swallowed hard, and did as he said, trying to ignore the flames that danced on the back of her eyelids, and the memory of her aunt's voice, one of hundreds, screaming in pain. Concentrate on the stones, just the stones._ She felt the whir of electrical energy brush against her arm and her cheek--so close that one twitch would send her into the blade's path. _Just the stones.  
_  
"Open your hands," Vandar said. They were clenched at her side. She brought them forward, palms up in front of her. Something smooth and long and sharp landed in them. The lightsaber hummed close to her ear and she smelled a little scorched hair. Her hair, the blade was that close. Her hands closed over the object—vibroblade—and she instinctively reached for the end of it, searching for the hilt. It wasn't there. Frowning as the sharp blade cut her fingers she ran her hand back up to the center_. Double-edged, I've never trained with one, they're dangerous..._Her hand clasped the center pommel, it was heavy and she moved her other hand next to it. Somewhere, not with her eyes, she felt the stones still spinning. _

"Keep your eyes closed," Master Vandar intoned, and she did, reaching out somehow with a sense that had nothing to do with her eyes, seeing the room, and Malak and the old Jedi levitating before her, lightsaber held close against the back of her neck.

"Block me," Vandar said quietly, and the yellow blade swung forward. Vibroblade met particle with a hiss and a clash of metal. Revan shifted her stance to a defensive one, and thought about the stones as fiercely as she could, trying not to think of anything else because if she did she would fail. She knew that, she knew that much.

Again and again the yellow blade hissed and again and again the vibroblade met it. "Tell me the last phrase of the Jedi Code," Vandar said.

"There is no death, there is the force," Revan whispered like a prayer, hoping it was true. Their blades met, sparks stung her arms through her thin robes.

"Malak." Vandar said, quietly, an entire command in that one name. Reluctantly her best friend came forward, his blue lightsaber drawn and the stones faltered. Revan's hands shook. Malak was stronger than she was, and Vandar's attacks had not stopped. She scrunched her eyes tighter, willing herself not to open them, feeling him looming on her flank. The stones spun raggedly now, but they still spun.

She heard the hiss of his first cut and spun to meet it, one edge of her sword catching his strike a hairsbreadth from her shoulder. She slanted the blade and met Vandar's thrust with the other end. She was sweating now, and every muscle was tensed.

"Relax," Malak said quietly. "Don't be afraid." His voice was gentle, as his blade bore down again and again. She blocked it, again and again, and Vandar's too—for hours it seemed—until the effort became a dance. The stones spun evenly again, and Revan moved in a place that was a balance of motion and stillness. She could see, somehow, where the attacks would fall and how to counter them, and she did. Her breathing was smooth and even and controlled.

Eventually, after what seemed like days—or years—the attacks stopped.

"Open your eyes, Padawan Revan," Master Vandar said quietly.

Revan did, blinking a little at the sudden brightness. She dropped the sword on the ground.

Master: people screaming and burning and dying and pain andConcentrate on the stones, just the stones.Just the stones.. Double-edged, I've never trained with one, they're dangerous... 

_Sunlight streamed in from a window. She stood there, looking at him. Her mind felt as blank and new as an untouched pond. _

The old Jedi smiled. "You can let the stones go now, child."

"Oh." Her voice felt hoarse. Her mouth was very dry and suddenly she trembled, muscles aching with an exhaustion that caught her completely by surprise. The stones clattered to the floor.

"The double-blade suits you," Malak said and caught her in a clumsy hug. He smelled like sweat and boy and Revan burrowed her face in his chest, leaning against him.

"Yes," Master Vandar said. "It does. Unusual, and out of fashion but I'll tell Zhar to give you a hilt for one. You must set the crystal yourself."

Revan nodded. Her thoughts were jumbled. She was excited, and so very tired. Had she wanted to leave the order? Never feel the force again? She felt it around her now, singing to her. Somehow the rest of it—even Malak and her promotion to Padawan--seemed inconsequential compared to that.

"You did very well," her best friend whispered to her and slowly let her go.

"Every test is different," Vandar said. "Young Malak here, needed to learn the art of diplomacy. You needed to learn to trust what you feared the most—the force—do you understand?"

"I—I will try to understand, Master Vandar." Revan bent her head.

"An honest answer," the old Jedi chuckled and bowed to her. She returned the bow, blushing a little. Padawan! Her. Revan, the hopeless case of the Academy! She struggled to keep the excitement from showing on her face.

Vandar laughed and waved his hand. "Go! Wash up, eat something. When you are ready, go to Zhar and begin the next step in your journey."

"Yes, Master Vandar, I will." Revan bowed again and went to the door. Malak started to follow her.

"Young Malak—a word, please." Vandar said. Her best friend stopped and turned back. Revan ran back to the student's dormitories as fast as she could.

* * *

Revan blinked. Her eyes were wet with something—tears? Watching the holo brought it all back. That shift, that moment when she stopped fighting them, and the joy she'd felt at their acceptance, the pride she'd felt at making Malak proud of her, the feeling of the force running through her when she stopped fighting it. She hit pause on the console and the figures froze, Malak and Vandar in the room, her vibrosword on the floor, stones scattered carelessly around it in a pattern like stars. She looked up slowly and found Carth watching her, his eyes earnest and a little sad. 

"You weren't such a bad kid," he said. "Though I can't say I approve of Jedi training methods, they could have killed you!"

Revan laughed. "About the only thing I knew was that they wouldn't kill me, Carth. Jedi don't kill their students. I could have been hurt, accidentally, but they'd never—Malak and Vandar—they'd never—" She swallowed hard, remembering Malak's face on the Star Forge when he came at her—nothing left in those eyes but hate. "It was only a test."

"There's a little more on the vid," Carth said.

"There is?" Revan frowned and tapped the screen. The images moved again, Malak and Vandar, talking alone in that empty room.

* * *

_"I know what you're going to say, Master," Malak looked down at the floor. It was strange seeing such a chastised expression on such a large face, next to the tiny Jedi. _

"I must still say it," Vandar replied. "You shouldn't have given her instruction. That peace was something Revan needed to find within herself, not from you."

"But you made her a Padawan anyway." Malak stretched stiffly, looking uncomfortable. "What do you want from me, Master? You sent me away, giving me a lecture about not becoming too close to her. You bring me back and instruct me to stay with her. She's my friend, she needs me and I need her! How can you say we're linked and then stop me from helping her when she reaches out to me? She was so close to breaking, I know that you felt it, just as I did!"

"With great power must come great control, Padawan. You both have such potential, but Revan is...a special case. You've never been told how she came to the Order."

"She told me," Malak's voice was angry. "What of it. She made a fire when she was seven, it burned out of control. She didn't know any better. No one was hurt."

"That's what she told you?" Master Vandar's face was expressionless, and he began to tell Malak the truth.

* * *

"Bastard!" Revan stopped the vid and threw her console across the room. Angrily she wiped at her eyes. "Malak barely spoke to me for a year, I thought...they made us practice together all the time, and I thought it was some kind of test and so I pretended not to notice..." 

"Shh, beautiful, it's done, it's gone." Carth got up, stepping over the shattered pieces of the screen and put his arms around her. He held her as if she might break. His voice hesitated. "You—you're remembering more, aren't you?"

"I remember what it felt like," Revan said. "I remember what it felt like, being that young, wanting to leave, wanting to stay...wanting Malak to—to—I was such a child, and I thought I knew everything in the universe..."

"Kids are like that," he said lightly. "You really wanted to pilot a fighter?" Carth laughed. "You're the worst gunner I've ever seen. That time we let you man the turrents on the jump to Dantooine..."

"I know...." she grimaced. "I thought I knew how to handle myself. I remembered doing it before...Polla's memories I guess, not mine."

"I think we've seen enough for today." He stroked the fuzz of her hair. It was growing back a little now

She blinked suddenly remembering the feeling of seeing it fall out in hanks in her dark-spotted hands. _The Dark side's price isn't so high, _she'd thought coolly amused. But where had she been? And when was that? Revan shivered.

"Manaan," she said. "You're saying we need to go to Manaan. And get them to let us into Ahto City, which will be considerably more difficult."

"We're working on it, I told you. Wait--wait a minute, tell me--that song you sang to the computer. When exactly did you decide to become the ruler of the galaxy?"

"My first year at the Academy was awful. I made the song up and sang it in my head whenever the others teased me...and they did tease me. I was too old, too skinny, and too clumsy. Malak was the only one who—was kind. He missed his family terribly, he was their only son and they spoiled him rotten back on Coruscant. I just thought, I think that if I ruled the galaxy, no one would laugh anymore. It was a silly dream...um..." Revan rubbed her eyes. "I don't remember why I decided to go after that objective in the end."

"It doesn't matter anymore," Carth said quietly.

"Don't lie, Carth."

"You can still tell when I'm lying can't you?" He sounded surprised. "I thought that was a force trick you did."

Revan snorted indelicately. "You're holding onto me so tight I can't breathe, flyboy. Yeah, I can tell."

* * *

"Well," Canderous said dubiously, "It's a freighter." 

"A Czerka freighter." Carth and Zaalbar stood on the loading ramp. Carth was beaming with the pride in his eyes that he always had, looking at a ship he'd fixed, and Zaalbar was covered in oil and singed fur. "We made some modifications, it'll run."

"If we're going to Manaan in a freighter, shouldn't we have cargo?" Revan asked. Her head pounded and she wanted to sit down. It was a week later and she felt more drained than ever. The walk up the platforms to the docking bays had left her winded. She tugged at the neck of her vest and pushed her visor up again, hiding her eyes from the glare. Canderous noticed her swaying a little and reached out an arm to steady her. She took it, trying not to feel ashamed of the weakness.

"We do," Zaalbar growled. "Tach glands and kinrath venom. One of the Czerka stores that wasn't looted."

"Ah," Revan nodded and translated the wookiee's words for Canderous. "Might as well make a profit while we're at it. We're short on credits. I looked."

They all glared at her.

"A joke," she said. "Really!"

"My people will have to find something to trade if we want any dealings with outsiders, Polla Organa. But we aren't ready yet. They help us only because I asked them to, and because of the life debt I swore to you."

Revan looked at the ground, frowning sadly. "I'm sorry Zaalbar, this is a big risk for you, and for all of you...are you sure you want to mix Kashyyyk diplomatic affairs with my problems?"

He groaned back at her. "We have no choice. The Mission-ghost and I have been over several scenarios, this one has the most likely chance of success."

"We still don't know how the three of us will be able to get through security...," she reminded him frowning. "And you still haven't told me who this mysterious force-user is. And you're blocking my access to the nets, why are you doing that?"

Canderous sighed. "They have their reasons, Revan. Trust them."

She frowned. "Where's HK?"

"We sent him on an errand, he's fetching the rest of the cargo."

"Yeah, I bet. He's going to be busy all morning until we leave, then hypnosleep for me, so I don't get sick when we jump...then, when we're landing on Manaan, perhaps you'll tell me the rest of your cunning plan. What could there possibly be that you don't want me to know? You're not going to turn me into the authorities, are you?" She asked, almost hopefully.

"I'm a warrior," Canderous said. "I don't make these plans up, I just execute them."

"Nice choice of words," Revan muttered. "Execute. I love Manaan's prison, I got to spend so much time there...and the judicial chambers are so wonderfully decorated. And that smell, salt water and fish breath. I can hardly wait."

"Trust us, beautiful." Carth said. "We'll tell you everything when we dock on Manaan. Let me give you a tour of our nice new ship. We've given you the captain's quarters."

Revan walked over to him and took his arm. Politely he didn't notice how heavily she was leaning on him, or the pallor in her face. The quarters were nice enough; although she wouldn't be awake long enough to enjoy them.

* * *

_"I should come with you, there's no telling what trouble you'll get into on your own." Bastila glared at her. _

"I told you already, no. Place is crawling with Sith and you're a target." Polla snapped the buckles of her Republic jumpsuit in place and strapped the lightsaber to her thigh. Frowning, she added a blaster to her belt.

"You look like a Jedi in a really poor disguise," Bastila said. "Do you think anyone will be fooled by that silly costume?"

"Probably not, but I'm no one. You, on the other hand, have the fate of the galaxy in your little white hands. You're staying on the ship, stop arguing. I'm only bringing HK right now...it's safer that way. You and Mission nearly died on Tatooine; I don't want to lose you, Bastila. You're too important."

"Just who do you think is in charge here, you or me?"

"Let the kid go, Bastila." Jolee leaned against the doorway, eyebrows raised. Polla wondered how long he'd been standing there. "She's right, no one will--recognize--her. And you're too visible. Polla's proven herself. Let her get the lay of the land and report in to us. We'll know better what to expect soon enough."

Bastila scowled and began to argue with him.

Polla Organa shrugged and walked away from them both. She tilted her head at HK and he followed her down the deck, clutching his blaster in his hands. She tried to ignore the hopeful bloodthirsty gleam in his metal eyes. Come alone,_ the datapad had said. Perhaps there was a clue there. She couldn't afford to pass it up. _

Come alone, 

_Later, when Carth and Jolee had to bail her out of the Ahto jail for insulting a Sith—who started it by the way—she'd already decided that she hated this world. Between the Republic, the Sith, the sanctimonious selkath and a guild of mysterious assassins that wanted to recruit her—not to mention the smell—Manaan seemed problematic at best. She could tell that much after only four hours. _

Five days later, after she'd managed to send a man to death, destroy the one source of the healing herb kolto in the galaxy, and wipe out an entire Sith embassy, her opinion of the planet was not any better.

_They set a course for Korriban, but were caught in Saul Karath's web instead._

_And then, everything she'd believed turned into a lie._

* * *

For some reason, Revan woke up smiling. All things considered, things could be worse. And here was Carth, carefully dabbing her arm in the place where the wake-up stim had pressed. He looked so cute in his pilot's jumper, face freshly shaved, hair combed back. He had a pile of black clothes with him--for her--she supposed. She reached for it, nice and silky fabric, it reminded her of something...something she couldn't quite place, but that didn't matter. It would be soft on her skin and Revan was sure this would be a good day. How could it not be? Here she was on Manaan about to be cured, and her brave companions had a cunning plan! Why worry? She giggled. 

"Um," her lover said. "Are you ok Revan?"

"Fine!" she said brightly. Everything was crisp and clean. She slipped out of the blankets and examined the clothing he'd brought more closely. What a funny joke this was, her robes from the Star Forge! Well, they were really nice after all, even if they hung a bit loose. Maybe she could find a belt or something...she slipped them on over her head.

"Nice." She nodded her approval. "That will be all Carth. Leave me now I need to fix my hair..." She looked around for a mirror but there were none. "I need a mirror," she told him, a little impatiently. He should anticipate these things.

"Um," he said again. "I think I gave you too much stim."

"Stim?" She blinked at him fuzzily.

"Sit down, Revan. I need to tell you the rest of it."

She frowned at him. "We're on Manaan. Some force user is going to take off this collar so I don't die. You figured out a way to get us past security. We have cargo to trade. And, if none of that works I have a secret connection here with an ancient order of assassins called the Genoharadan, and they owe me a few favors. What else would I need to know?" She beamed at him. His eyes were golden-brown, and that worry line between his eyebrows was really charming.

"Um..." he said. "Wait—secret order of what?"

Revan put a finger to her lips. "Shhhh," she said. "It's a secret! Oh, I wasn't supposed to tell...well, they won't mind I'm sure. The rodian, whatshisname, said no one would believe me anyways."

"Definitely too much stim," Carth muttered. He sat down on the bed and took her hands. "Listen beautiful, here's the plan."

And so he told her. It was probably the stims, but Revan thought it sounded pretty good. She only balked when he urged her to wear her lightsaber. She refused. Carth called Canderous in and they convinced her to carry a vibroblade at least. After that, she sat on the bed, swinging her legs back and forth while the men whispered furiously amongst themselves for a while. The edges of the happy feeling wore a little thin, but she still felt pretty good. She didn't even protest when they sprayed white make-up on her face and drew Sith tattoos with a tiny brush. Canderous was really good at it, she thought, admiring herself in the mirror she'd insisted upon having. And her hair was growing in, which was a relief. Her eyes blinked back at her hazily, yellow Sith eyes, with only a trace of green.

Alarms went off as they approached the Customs gate. The selkath behind the desk didn't even look surprised.

"Name?" He said, sounding bored and exasperated.

"Darth Revan Starfire, Dark Lord of the Sith," Revan said.

"Right," the selkath muttered. "We never should have released those identity prints to the nets. But who knew? Another one...."

He gave her a patient look, waving a flipper. "It's a formality Lord Revan, but could I see your identity chips and the names under which you and companions are traveling?"

"Oh that," Revan shrugged frowning. "Numu something...I think my slaves have them somewhere..."

The selkath glanced at Carth and Zaalbar, his gills fading green with a hint of surprise. Carth was wearing a Mandalorian battlesuit and helmet, and Zaalbar was...wearing a blaster. "That's odd," the selkath official muttered to himself. "I'm getting a match on you both as well....hm...Well, you're more thorough...'Revan', than most of the other contenders. Where did you find the wookiee?"

"We have a life debt," Revan said, sounding impatient. "Can we go now?"

"Certainly," the selkath said. "Welcome to Manaan. Enjoy your stay. The Sith embassy is—"

Revan shot him a withering glare. "I know where it is," she snapped. "Don't mock me, fish breath."

"Wouldn't dream of it," The selkath became suddenly busy with something on his desk.


	4. The Telosian Version

_Disclaimer : See previous. These characters and their um, poorly sketched imaginary world are not mine. I guess they'd be Bioware's or George Lucas'. Who sketched the world much better than I ever could...although really, why would anyone ever invent Manaan? 3/2005 This chapter has been revised in accord with xenzen's grammar __J__ thanks xen..._

**Chapter 4 / The Telosian Version**

_XXX_

_Carth Onasi_

XXX

Carth kept a firm grip on her arm. The battle armor felt awkward and he couldn't see anything out of the corners of his eyes. Printed readouts from the suit scrolled across his vision and he wished he'd asked Canderous how to turn them off. Revan's arm felt like a twig in the glove's sensors, and he stared at her narrow shoulders, frowning. She was so thin now that he could see the bones in her neck.

He was glad she hadn't seen herself before they painted her face. Block patterns had formed where the dark lines of force energy merged, like blood clotting under cold gray skin. His heart ached for her, and he hoped desperately that they'd find a way to make it stop.

_I didn't save you to die like this,_ he told the back of her head silently. She tugged on his arm, full of unnatural energy. She was giggling softly. _Damn Canderous and his stims, what did he give her? At least she's not in pain, she was screaming in her sleep these last few weeks, screaming in her sleep all the way from Kashyyyk to Manaan._

Twinge of guilt. He'd looked at the data and the holos from her files, those they'd seen before. What came after she'd locked somehow with a password that he still didn't know. He'd tried hundreds, hoping to hit on the right one, and eventually he supposed she'd figure that out. But he had to know, had to know everything about her, even what she didn't want to know. As much as he'd told her it didn't matter, of course it did. There was Telos, and Morgana, and the friends he'd lost in the wars. There was the truth about her — he kept telling himself if he knew it he could accept it. It was the not knowing that bothered him. Of course he couldn't tell her that, not now. _Maybe not ever._ And now, right now, she looked half out of her mind.

"We're not really going to the Sith Embassy," he reminded her.

"I know that!" She flashed him a smile. Polla's bright smile in that ravaged face. The make-up made her look like a painted doll. Under the red visor her eyes were colorless and blank. She was breathing hard. He patted her awkwardly on the back.

"Just keep walking, beautiful, you're doing fine."

Ahto City. They passed through gray metal doors that slid open with a whoosh and walked out onto the promenade. Canderous was already here somewhere, looking into things on his own. They'd meet him at the cantina, and then check the hotel. Carth tried to ignore the twist of apprehension in his gut at being this close to the Republic Embassy — apprehension and something else — regret? He'd never see Dustil now, never rejoin the Fleet.

_Everything he'd worked for his entire life was gone. Everything except for her._

Zaalbar growled softly over Revan's head at him. "People are staring at us," the Wookiee said.

"We expected that," Carth answered, pulling his attention back to their surroundings. Smell of salt air and fish, the sound of the waves below them. Republic soldiers, Selkath, random travelers from other worlds. . . . Manaan hadn't changed that much. And Sith. Three Sith in uniform walked past them close enough to kill. He bit his lip. Their eyes were carefully averted but he heard one of them laugh.

"Hey!" Revan called.

_Damn. Way too much stim, it's made her stupid._

The Sith ignored her, but she didn't let it go. Revan twisted her arm from his grasp in one smooth movement and ran up to them, a little clumsy on her feet, but moving with the arrogance and grace still that was so unmistakably her own.

"What do you want?" The female soldier looked at her disdainfully.

"That should be, what do you want, my Lord?" Revan told her.

The woman sneered. "Right. My Lord. Darth Revan. How can I be of assistance? You should really get back to the embassy and join the other hopefuls."

"I want to ask you some questions," Revan said.

Carth and Zaalbar stood there, frozen. Zaalbar groaned softly. "This could go very badly, friend Carth," the Wookiee said.

"Yes, I know," Carth sighed.

"Ask away," the Sith said coldly. One of her companions whispered something in her ear and she laughed.

"How many pretenders to my throne are there?" Revan said.

"At the moment?" The Sith snickered. "Fifteen of you." She peered at Revan's face. "Impressive," she said finally. "Not that many actually went out and had surgery. And it's interesting; you're not going for the sweet innocent Polla look that so many of them favor. Where'd you get the Wookiee? Everyone has a Mandalorian, but I've never seen anyone with a Wookiee."

"He's not a Mandalorian," Revan said gravely. "That's Carth Onasi, my true love."

"Uh, yeah. . . . " One of the male soldiers coughed.

Carth winced inside his battle suit.

"Well, enough small talk." Revan said. There was an edge in her voice as bright as a vibroblade. _This was not going well._ "Where's Yuthura Ban?"

"Who?" The Sith woman looked confused.

"Twi'lek? Purple head tails? Jedi or something?" Revan sounded impatient. "Probably here to help save the kolto?"

"The _Sith_ will save the kolto," the other male soldier said. "That is if you idiots ever stop this game." He was older than his companions, and had the look of a veteran. "Trust me, I knew the real Darth Revan, and none of you measure up."

"You did?" Revan's voice was too curious. "Tell me, what was she like?"

"_Numu,"_ Carth hissed desperately. She didn't even look at him.

"She was a true Sith," the man instinctively straightened his shoulders, standing at attention. "I was there when she killed the Mandalore in single combat. She toyed with him for hours, up until the end, never using the force, making him think he could win. Then at the very end, she blasted him blackened and charred with the power of the dark side."

"Thermal detonators are easier," Revan muttered under her breath. "I'm—sorry I don't remember," she told the old Sith soldier. "So, you were with the Republic back then? And you went over to the Sith? Why?"

"Enough of this," the Sith woman hissed. "We'll see you back at the Embassy, then we'll see how much of the old power you really have..."

"_Numu," _Carth walked over and grabbed Revan's arm. "We need to be going now."

"How much power _she_ has?"

A cool voice spoke behind them. Zaalbar growled uneasily and they all turned to look. Carth knew it wasn't him, couldn't be him, but his breath still caught in his throat, his hand going instinctively to his blaster. A hulking hairless man, clad in red body armor. He was heavily muscled and flanked by two acolytes in Dark Jedi robes. The Manaan sun glinted on his metal jaw, and put the patterns on his hairless skull in sharp relief. Amusement sparkled in cold black eyes, eyes rimmed with yellow.

Malak laughed. "Power? Her? Not much. You're wasting your time, currying _her_ favor There's a trace of the Force in her, but only a whisper. She won't last through one round of the games."

Revan's hand clutched at Carth's, and he heard her gasp. He remembered the last time he'd seen that face. _On the Leviathan. But no, of course, it can't really be Malak, can it?_

"I killed you," Revan muttered raggedly. She dropped Carth's hand and stood there, staring up at the apparition from her past. Her voice was shaking. "I'm sorry, Mal," she whispered.

"This is dull," said the Sith woman behind them. "I'm going. If I wanted to watch a tearful reunion of the Dark Lord and her old apprentice, I'd view the Coruscanti underground vid again."

The tall figure laughed and the image shimmered, dissolving into a young fair-haired man dressed in a plain black robe. Carth blinked, the man's new face was still familiar, but he couldn't remember where he'd seen it before, not until Revan spoke.

"Kel?" She shook her head, sounding confused. "Kel Algwinn?"

_One of the kids from the Academy_. There'd been so many and every face was a blur except for Dustil's. But Revan knew him, she'd known them all, talked to them all, trying to understand what made them join the Sith. He'd thought at the time that she was searching for a reason she could understand, reconcile, with the truth about her own identity.

"So you know me," the young man sounded pleased. "It will be _Darth_ Kel, soon enough, when I've finished eliminating all of these petty pretenders." He laughed. "You'll be even easier than most."

"You left the Sith," Revan said. "We talked and . . . you had doubts and you left."

Kel's face was expressionless, but his hands curled into fists. Zaalbar groaned. "This is dangerous. We need to go."

"Not yet, Zaal," Revan said back quickly in Shryiiwook.

Kel laughed. "So you knew me at the Academy. Which one are you really? Natalia? Reeni? Or just one of the pathetic hopefuls hanging around Dreshdae?"

"Why did you come back to the dark side?" Revan continued, stubborn and stimmed as a losing gunner. "You said the Sith weren't for you, I thought you'd go to the Jedi. And why . . ." she took a deep breath. "Why disguise yourself to look like Malak?"

"You're asking _me_ that?" Kel's voice was incredulous. "I just use a holo field, you've had surgery. And it's bad surgery; you don't look much like her at all. I met Revan when she was on Korriban. You can't fool _me_." His hand reached out and brushed her face.

Carth bit his lip and willed himself not to step forward.

"What's this, make-up? Painted-on Sith tattoos?" Kel laughed again. "No Force and painted-on tattoos and you expect people to believe you're Revan? You're just bantha fodder, whoever you are really."

Revan's head dropped and she stared at her hands. "I thought I'd saved you," she repeated.

"_Tell me your real name_," A weight of force command in those words. This was bad, really bad. The Sith were all around them. The three soldiers at their back, Kel and the acolytes at their front. And on Manaan of course, any sign of aggression would mean at the very least a night in jail.

"Polla Organa." Revan said automatically. Her hand rubbed her head like it hurt. A pale mottled hand, striped with dark lines. They hadn't put gloves on her hands, no one would notice them, they'd thought. "No — Revan, Revan Starfire — I — don't. . . ." Her hand dropped and her body straightened again. Her chin lifted and her mouth tightened.

Carth grabbed her hand again. "_Numu_," he said feeling hopeless. "We need to go. _Emilio _is waiting for us, remember?"

She pulled away. Behind the visor he could almost see the anger in her eyes. "You dare," she said to Kel. "You dare use force mind tricks on _me?"_

Kel chuckled. "Oh, you're good, you're really good. Pity you don't have the skill or the power to back up your act. I almost want to leave you alive, maybe keep you as a pet...would like that? Being my pet?"

Revan lifted her fist in an unmistakable gesture. Carth half-expected to see Kel fall, clutching his throat, but the boy only laughed. Revan's face twisted in anger.

An alarm went off, somewhere above them. Carth grabbed Revan, tackling her to the ground, even as he almost felt the wash of dark energy strike her as Kel lashed out, hitting her with a dark miasma in retaliation for Revan's attack. Underneath him, he heard the sound of her strangling, gasping for breath. He rolled off of her, blasters drawn. Zaalbar was growling in outrage above them.

"Aggression will not be tolerated in Ahto City," a disembodied voice said above them. "The citizen Numu Ran of Alderaan initiated an act of violence using the Force against citizen Kel Algwinn, formerly of Korriban. Please remain where you are and cease hostilities. The authorities have been notified."

Revan's visor had fallen off and her eyes were clenched tightly shut. Tears ran down her face and she choked, a horrible gurgling sound. The Sith all laughed somewhere above them. Carth pulled her onto his lap, as if he could shelter her from all of this with his arms. Frantic readouts scanned across his suit's visor. _Heart rate, blood pressure, emotional distress._

"This is really not good," Zaalbar groaned sadly above them.

"I-I hate Manaan," Revan whispered, gasping for breath. She was trembling in his arms, and coughing.

_XXX_

_Revan_

_Ahto__ City__ Jails. _

_Stasis field._

There'd been the press of Carth's armored arms around her. There'd been that feeling, that sickly helpless feeling, while she choked for breath and then the stasis field. The Selkath took no chances. Stasis field, and then something else that had knocked her unconscious. Revan came awake again aching and painfully sober.

_What the hell did you give me Carth?_

She'd been stupid with it, crazy stupid, as if all of this was some kind of game. A very bad game where someone she'd counted as one of her few triumphs in the war of dark against light hadn't changed at all.

_Kel fell back to the dark side, I thought I'd saved him I saved no one. Not him, not Bastila, not Malak. All I've done is ruin lives. I've ruined Carth's, why would he follow me into this? And Zaalbar and Canderous . . . this is all madness. I deserve death, only that. Only that, and Kel made me so angry I could almost taste what it would be like to strike him down. Only I'm . . . weak, he was stronger . . ._

Her robes were gone. And her sword. She was wearing a simple gray prisoner's jumpsuit, the standard on half a hundred worlds. Thin cheap cloth and the cold metal floor of the cell. She was freezing. Revan wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, cursing softly.

"Hey, beautiful." She opened her eyes cautiously. Everything was a yellow blur. There was too much light, the shimmer of some kind of containment field surrounding her.

_A cell, Ahto city prison, you've been here before._

A spark of anger. "What did you give me?" Revan whispered. "Are you insane? I was half out of my mind, and you set me up to face the Sith like that?"

"It was just a stim to bring you out of hypnosleep," Carth's voice said from somewhere to her right. He was in another cell, she guessed, remembering the layout of the jails from her times spent here, both as a prisoner and Sunry's arbiter. "Are you — are you ok?"

_Sunry another failure. I was going to defend Jolee's friend and I got him death instead. No matter that he was guilty, was I any less guilty?_

_How many hundreds of Sith have you killed? That's what Sunry asked me, and even then, knowing nothing about my past I felt guilty. How many hundreds did I kill? Sith, Republic, Mandalorians, it makes no difference. All dead, and all my fault._

_My head hurts, and my lungs. Kel was strong, he hurt me badly. I wish he'd killed me._

"Letting me die would be easier," she reminded Carth.

"Don't talk like that!" he said. "We're fine, Emilio will be here soon. They let Dreeewwooowr go, and you didn't hurt anyone. There'll be a fine, that's all. Don't worry, beautiful."

_The hope in his voice. Those stupid fake names. Hope for her. Why couldn't he understand?_ Revan opened her eyes again, willing herself to see through the pain. Images flickered like the aftereffects of a flash grenade: the bars of her cell, the Selkath guards, Carth, standing in the cell next to hers, his hands held out entreating.

She ignored him.

"Guard," she said to the Selkath. "Tell Roland Wann at the Republic Embassy that you have Revan Starfire, who was known as Polla Organa to him, in custody. I'm sure he'd be interested. Perhaps the Jedi on Manaan would like to see the failed Dark Lord of Sith pay her dues as well. I'm sure there'd be a reward for you."

"_Numu," _Carth hissed.

Why did he even bother? The game was up, the cards were dealt.

The Selkath guard looked at her. His gills flapped. It took some moments for her to realize he was laughing. Frowning, she repeated the words in Selkath. "I killed your god," she added. "The Progenitor? I poisoned her water, and I lied to your judges about it, I blamed it on the Sith."

The Selkath laughed more, in that watery chuckling whisper that they used for mirth.

"You've seen too many holovids," he said finally. "Poor deluded creature. The Sith are bad enough with their games of succession, but you . . . perhaps you'd like to watch one of the vids again?"

"Vids?" Revan said, confused.

The Selkath flapped at her. "Oh ho ho, vids, yes vids. We've got the Telosian one here on file. Jmar, put it on for the lady. Maybe it will shut her up."

The other Selkath guard gurgled, almost a giggle. "Can I forward to the interesting part?" he asked.

"No," the other guard said, sounding bored already. "Make her watch the whole thing."

Jmar shrugged and walked behind the guard's console, punched in a few buttons. A holo shimmered to life in front of her. To her right, Carth muttered something that sounded like a prayer, or an apology.

XXX

_Carth Onasi_

Carth only watched her, it was all he could do. He'd seen the vid before. This one, and a hundred others in the weeks from Kashyyyk to Manaan, while Revan slept in her drugged and screaming sleep. The Telosian one had an especially different twist, and he wondered how she'd react, even as he cursed, wondering what was taking Canderous and Zaalbar so long to get them out of here.

"_You be good to my daughter," Helena Shan said, coughing piteously in the smoky Dantooine bar. Revan's face was smooth and expressionless but her green eyes gleamed with some deep emotion._

"_As if she'd listen to me," she said finally, after a long silence._

"_I can tell she cares for you," Helena said._

_In the background, Mission Vao giggled and covered her mouth with a delicate blue hand._

_Bastila's haughty chin trembled, and Revan ran to her suddenly, the smooth mask of her face changing to something like joy._

"_I can die happy," Helena Shan said, "knowing my daughter has someone like you to protect her."_

_The two women embraced._

"What the —" the real Revan whispered.

They'd washed the make-up off her face and it was gray and black in the harsh prison light. The Sith tattoos had formed like nebulae around her eyes and forehead, black rays radiating from those yellow points. Her eyes had always been too large for her face, but now they were huge and empty and hopeless.

"Poll — "Cath started, wishing he could say more. Wishing there was something to say to take that look off her face, make her face like it had been.

A line furrowed between her arched brows.

"What the _hell _is this?" she spat at the Selkath jailers.

"The Telosian version," one of them said. Carth wasn't sure which one, they all looked alike.

"Bastila and I—" she muttered. On the screen the two women embraced passionately in the dim light of the smoky cantina. Revan was slightly taller, and her head bent in a graceful arch as pulled the smaller woman against her. They kissed.

"If you don't like the Telosian version, we have the Coruscanti underground vid," one of the jailers offered. "Not that I care what you like. I think this one is the best. Look at that Revan — she has beauty, passion, and power. What were you thinking, trying to compare yourself with _that_?"

"I _don't_ compare myself with that," Revan rubbed her head as if it hurt. It probably did. The med sensors on the ship hadn't been favorable. She was dying; Carth clenched his fists uselessly, aching for her. If he could die instead, if there was something—anything he could do for her . . .

"May we request an arbiter?" he asked them.

"One will be appointed by the Court," one of the Selkath said.

"I can request the appointment," Carth said.

On screen, Bastila and Revan were still kissing.

"You may request, but the arbiter must agree to the appointment," the Selkath answered.

'Yuthura Ban. She's a Twi'lek looking into the kolto restoration. Ask her if she'll come and speak with us about being our arbiter."

Revan glanced at him, dully. At the gap in her jumpsuit, the metal collar glinted. The flesh around it was red and inflamed. "Too late," she muttered.

Carth tried to smile comfortingly. "We've been in worse spots, beautiful."

Revan stared at him, her eyes as blank as yellow coins. Her face was as pale as ice scarred by those terrible lines.

"We'll see if she's willing to meet with you," the Selkath gurgled, coolly.

_XXX_

_Revan_

_Leviathan_

_Bastila and Revan writhed in agony in one tank. Across from them, Carth Onasi's chin was set defiantly._

"_I'll never betray the Republic, Saul!" _

_The two women screamed as lightning lanced through them, outlining their bodies clad only in brief undergarments. They clasped each other, as if their force bond could ease their agony._

"I refuse to watch any more of this," Revan muttered, closing her eyes. Her head hurt so much. Perhaps the Selkath didn't believe in torture, but this Telosian vid came pretty close.

XXX

Hours passed, marked only by the ragged sound of her breathing and the pounding in her head.

Dimly she heard the lines of dialogue, words she'd never said to a Bastila that never existed.

_We should have bombed Telos more,_ Revan thought acidly. _Definitely too many scriptwriters survived. _She winced, thinking of Carth and his lost wife, his shattered world. She didn't look at him. Looking at him and still seeing that dumb hope was too difficult. He'd infected her with it, before she remembered that between happily every after and the present lay the terrible gap of her past.

"_I love you Revan. You cannot deny the bond between us. Join me, and we can harness the power of the Star Forge."_

"_Follow me back into the Light, Bastila, for the sake of the love we share."_

The actor with her face parroted the words earnestly.

Revan mumbled through gritted teeth, half to herself, "What I said, was: 'You were weak Bastila, I always knew you'd fall to the Dark Side.' I only did what needed to be done . . . what I thought was right . . ." She didn't care if the Selkath heard her, obviously they didn't believe her anyway.

"Shhh, beautiful. It will be fine." Carth's words were a meaningless comfort. She wouldn't look at him.

"_The Jedi Council used you, Revan. You were a pawn in their plans to get the Star Forge, just as they used me for my Battle Meditation. Malak taught me the truth, taught me to embrace my hate and my anger. You are stronger than I thought possible, after what they did to you."_

Those words were almost too familiar. Too close to what Bastila had actually said. Bile in the back of her throat.

"_Don't do this kid," Jolee said sadly. "Love can only lead to the dark side."_

Revan frowned. _Jolee would never say that._

_"Don't do this, kid."_

_How was it really?_ The words of the stupid vid faded and she saw it again, her real memory.

_XXX_

_The sun shone high in the sky, beating down on the ancient stones of the temple summit. She was breathing hard; she was scared, she was angry. She was desperate._

_"Jolee, can't you see it's the only way to stop Malak?" She pleaded with him, despite the scorn in Bastila's eyes._

_"Don't do this, kid."_

_"Time to die, old man." Bastila moved in for the kill and Revan lashed out, not sure who she was fighting anymore. Just a blur of saber blades and then he was dead. Juhani fell snarling and she couldn't remember cutting her down._

_XXX_

No. That's a lie. A lie I'd tell myself.

XXX

_"Prove yourself," Bastila hissed. "If you want me to follow you, _earn_ the title of the Dark Lord._"

_"I have, I've beaten you." Revan sneered at her, exulting in it_. I wanted to beat you for so long, even before I knew what you did.

_"Prove yourself," Bastila taunted her again. "They are lackeys of the Order, those that twisted you, trapped you, broke you. Are you still so broken Revan?"_

_That look in Jolee's eyes. Juhani's absolute trust slowly changing to something almost like fear. They fell like a harvest of Derailan ferra grass, easily and softly under the hiss of her blade. They fell with their mouths open, still telling her it was not too late._

_XXX_

"Please," she said through gritted teeth, "I've heard enough. Turn off the vid."

The Selkath jailers chuckled, gurgling and mirthful.

XXX

The outer door opened and there was Zaalbar. He wasn't alone, Canderous, dressed in an ordinary mechanic's jumpsuit, and HK were with him. The jailers stopped the vid abruptly.

"I'm sorry," one of the Selkath said. "No visitors until after the trial."

Canderous ignored them, walking past them and standing in front of Revan's cell. "You look awful," he told her.

"Thanks, as always for your kind words," she said, peering up at him. He looked completely ordinary. She'd never thought anyone could dismiss Canderous without a second glance, but in this disguise he was just one more middle-aged man in a spaceport. She smiled faintly, wondering how he felt about that.

"I'm not going to sugarcoat this," the Mandalorian said frowning. "They won't let you go until the trial, but your fine has been paid."

"The trial will only be a formality then," Carth said. "Then we'll be free to go."

"No. The Sith Embassy paid the fine. We arrived too late. After the trial, they will take possession of you. You are both considered their subjects."

Carth blanched, his jaw tightening. "Oh," he said softly.

"Remember the good old days?" Revan said. "When there was no one left _alive_ in the Sith Embassy?" She tried to grin but it wasn't working.

"That's the spirit," Canderous said. "I found Yuthura."

"And?" Revan swallowed hard.

"Finding Yuthura seems to be a popular thing to do for Revan Starfire and her henchmen. She . . . told me to get out."

"Where is she staying?" Carth asked.

"The Republic Embassy."

"You went there? All of you?"

"Of course not," Zaalbar snarled at her. "We left HK in the ship. As an emissary from Kashyyyk I was welcome."

"This is touching," one of the Selkath said. Despite their earlier protest, they'd made no move to evict the visitors. "Who are you all really? Actors?"

"I'm just another Sith pretender," Revan muttered. Her throat was so dry. "Listen, tell Yuthura, her friend needs her . . ."

"Oh I did," Canderous said grimly. "But she told her story to the vids long ago, and that's what every single version of Revan has said. Right before they tried to kill her for being a traitor to the Sith."

"Master, I was instructed not to blast anyone, but surely you can see that violence is our best option at the moment."

"You'd better keep that droid contained," one of the guards said warningly.

"No, HK," Revan said. She was so tired. _That feeling, choking, hitting the ground with her hands on her throat._ _They'll kill me, would it be so bad? No. But they'll kill Carth, which would be far worse._

"Carth asked you to send a message to Yuthura Ban," she said to the guards. "Did you send it?"

"Of course," the Selkath said. "She's agreed to be your arbiter. When she arrives, the trial will begin."

Revan didn't want to allow herself to hope. _Hope is fleeting. Hope is a weakness._

_XXX_

The judicial chamber was just as she remembered it. Bright light, too bright, streamed in from the ceiling, making patterns of rainbows on the floor. A salty smell like brine and fish, and the five judges of the Selkath court. She'd known their names once, but she couldn't remember them now. They looked disgusted, gills pulsing yellow and orange. Then again, they always did.

Zaalbar and Canderous were not allowed in. This was a private session. HK had been sent back to the freighter with strict instructions. _Be ready to leave at any time, and we may be leaving very quickly._

Two brown-robed hooded figures were conferring with one of judges on the far side of the room. On the other side stood Kel Algwinn, dressed in a formal Sith military uniform. He glanced at her, looking bored.

"You look even less like Revan than ever," Kel said in a pleasant tone. The sneer on his lips belied the politeness in his voice.

She pulled her own hood over her head, trying to sink into her robes. _At least they gave me those back, and Carth his armor._

"A reminder," one of the judges said. "The use of the Force will not be tolerated in these proceedings."

"I wish to pay my fine," Revan said.

The judge waved his hand. "It's already paid," he said.

"Then why am I on trial?" Revan asked, staring at him. _Make him admit it._ The two hooded figures hadn't moved. They had their backs to her. _Why two? Yuthura came? Who else?_ Underneath her robes she was shivering.

"We need to make sure you understand the grievous nature of your actions."

"I object." The Selkath who had been conferring with the Jedi looked up, his voice whistling like water over rocks. "The defendant has an arbiter. Do not be swayed by her words. Only the arbiter should speak."

"I demand the right to confer with my counsel," Revan said. The two hooded figures finally turned around. A man and a woman, but the man's face was hidden in shadow. The light glared in her eyes and from this distance she couldn't make out his features.

"Accepted, please confer."

The female Jedi walked over to her, her face calm and serene. Revan remembered that day in the tomb, the Twi'lek's face as she pled for her life. Yuthura had changed since then, her skin gleamed with health, and the dark sith lines around her face had faded. If she had any reaction to seeing Revan, it didn't show.

"The Jedi do not reject any who call on their aid," Yuthura said, in her smooth voice. "But I must warn you, I have little sympathy for the pretenders."

"I wish to confer in private." Revan answered, meeting violet eyes that stared back at her with no sign of recognition. "Manaan statutes allow for it."

The judges murmured. "An escort will take you to one of the private chambers," one of them agreed. "You and the Mandalorian."

_They mean Carth. _She turned a little and looked at him. They'd taken his helmet off in the jail, dressed him back in the battle armor. He stood there, head held up, looking grim, but when her eyes met his, he gave her a faint smile.

"The Sith have their own means of justice. Since this woman is obviously a Sith citizen, I object." Kel sounded almost amused.

"Overruled." The Selkath gurgled.

The guards escorted them and Yuthura to a small chamber. A small chamber with very bright lights. Revan winced and rubbed her eyes, sinking into a chair. Yuthura sat down easily and looked at them both.

"I commend your surgeon," the Twi'lek said lightly. "The resemblance is remarkable. But you can't expect to fool those of us that really knew her. Those of us that felt her die. What do you want of me? Are you actors from one of the vids? Mixed up with the Sith?"

"It might be helpful if you told the judges that," Carth began cautiously.

"I need a friend," Revan said, staring hard at the Twi'lek's face.

"I'd say you do!" Yuthura laughed. "But I don't make friends easily."

_No time for this._ Revan pulled at the neck of her robe, exposing the metal collar that bit into her collarbone. "Do you know what this is?"

"It looks like some kind of neural disrupter," the twi'lek said shrugging. "Why are you wearing it?"

"My friends were afraid I'd kill them — or myself." Revan bit her lip. "It's Force locked. Only a Force user can take it off. And you're the only one I trust."

_The only one I trust that I didn't already kill._

"You really expect me to believe you're Revan?" Yuthura sounded incredulous, almost angry. "You don't understand, do you? Those of us whose lives she touched, we felt her _die._ Revan's gone, you can't be her."

"I didn't die at the Star Forge — Carth came for me. Bastila tried to hurt him and . . . I k-killed her and we escaped." Revan stared at her useless hands.

"I understand that you're a confused young woman," Yuthura's voice was gentle. "Perhaps you think you're Revan, but you must accept that you're not. You wouldn't want to be her. Revan suffered, Revan fell, and now she's at peace. I'll tell the judges you're a danger to yourself, perhaps we can convince them not to release you to the Sith. If you'd seek the Republic's clemency . . ."

"There's no clemency, there, Yuthura, not for me."

The Twi'lek looked helplessly at Carth. "You seem sane enough, why do you let her persist in these delusions?"

"Yuthura," Carth said. "We met. On Korriban do you remember it?"

"Sorry, no." Yuthura waved a hand and her face darkened. "I try not to think about those times." She shrugged. "I recognize the face of course. Carth Onasi, Republic pilot. You're actors, I assume."

"You — were one of my son's instructors," Carth said quietly.

Yuthura frowned. "Onasi? Oh! Dustil. Of course I did. Teach Carth Onasi's son, you've done your research, Mandalorian."

"I'm not a Mandalorian." Carth sounded pained. "Do you know what . . . what happened to Dustil?"

"He left Dreshdae with me, we caught a Czerka freighter . . . us and some of the others Revan had saved. After that . . ." She shook her head, and a faint shadow crossed her face. "The two of you wouldn't last two minutes in the Sith compound. If you want me to save you, you need to tell me the truth. Who are you really? Alderaanian actors? Your papers are from Alderaan, but your identity prints have been tampered. It's a lot of work, disguising yourselves as dead heroes of the Republic . . . is this some kind of trick? Some kind of plot?"

Revan frowned, there had to be some way to convince her. "Look in my mind," she said. "Look in Carth's. Please, Yuthura, I - I lived through the Star Forge but I'm dying now."

"I believe that you think you're Revan," Yuthura said. "But I felt her die, and she is truly dead."

"You felt her die," Carth said suddenly, words coming out in a rush. "Three weeks after the destruction of the Star Forge, you felt Revan die. Three weeks after the Star Forge we put the collar around her neck. It cut her off from the Force. _That_ was what you felt, not Revan's death, just the severing of her ties to the Force."

The Twi'lek's head tails twitched uneasily. "Three weeks, yes. We think the _Hawk_ was lost somewhere in space. She must have touched your life too, for you to know that much."

"Yuthura — " Revan's voice broke and she wiped at the tears in her eyes angrily. "Yuthura I wish I had died, I fell. I killed my friends. I . . . thought I could control my passion and my anger and my hate, make it into something to atone for my mistakes and I was wrong I was so wrong . . . _Look at me." _She pulled back the hood, letting the twi'lek see it all, her ravaged face, and her Sith-yellow eyes.

"We felt her fall, and we mourned. Then later, we felt her die," Yuthura whispered.

"I wish I'd died. I deserved to die."

"Polla, no . . ." Carth grabbed her hand and held it so tightly she felt her bones give.

Yuthura watched them, frowning.

"If Revan were alive," she said finally. "It might be best if that fact was not known. There are those, even on the Council and in the Order who . . . may not understand."

"That's why we came to you," Carth said quietly.

"You can't be her," the Twi'lek murmured, but there was an edge of doubt in her voice. "May I—touch the collar?"

Revan twisted her mouth in something that should have been a smile. "Of course."

The woman's cool hand pressed against her skin, tracing the place where it had grown around the metal.

"This thing is an abomination," she said finally. "It's cutting off your life in a way that I can't heal. If you . . . if you really were my old friend," the Twi'lek spoke thoughtfully, "and I took off the collar, all of those who felt you die would feel you live. Sith and Jedi both. Not all of those people would be . . . pleased. You'd be in danger. What life would you choose then?"

"I don't know," Revan kept her voice sincere. "It's been a long time since I had a life to choose, if I ever did." She laughed bitterly. "The Jedi say there is always a choice."

"Revan made great choices, important choices, but she had little control over the hand that was dealt her. It is one of the things that makes her story so sad." Yuthura grimaced. "If I take this off, Kel will know. Vrook will know. If you are her, they'll know, and you'll have to face them."

"Vrook is here?" Revan whispered. _Master Vrook, my old friend. My old friend who hated Polla._

"He came with me, yes." Yuthura nodded. "More than anyone, he took the news of Revan's fall hard. He blames himself. Every Revan pretender is like a vibroblade in his heart, but when he can, he looks at each and every one."

"Why?" Revan frowned, trying to sort through the pieces of her shattered memories. _Vrook trained me. The Council sent him away. He came back. He'd —they'd argued about something._ _What? Vrook was proud of me and he loved me very much. Why?_

"Who is Vrook to me?" she demanded. Her hands clenched in useless fists.

"It's fairly well-known," Yuthura said. "Although he's never admitted it publicly. It's something one of the pretenders would know, I'm surprised you'd ask."

Revan snapped. "Well I don't. I don't know. The things I remember are fragments, pieces, nothing. Tell me_, who is he to me?"_

"He's your uncle," Carth muttered.

She shot an astonished glance at him. "The vids," he said. "The Council vote. His was the only dissent . . . I wondered about that, I remembered how he treated you on Dantooine when . . . when we thought you were . . . Polla . . . I — had the computer look into it on Kashyyyk."

Yuthura regarded their exchange, her face expressionless. "I must be mad," the twi'lek said, finally. "I — believe you, friend."

"Perhaps you should wait," Carth urged. "Take the collar off after the trial."

"No," Revan said. "Please, take it off now."

Carth looked at her. "Don't do anything stupid, beautiful."

"It's not that. . . . Only if they release us to the Sith without any force powers – Carth, we'll die. Kel will kill us."

"I won't let that happen," he said.

_You always were a fool Carth, but I love you._

"Kel's strong," Yuthura said sadly. "When he fell he fell far." She nodded. "This is madness but I agree. Whoever you choose to be Revan, it should be your choice. You gave me a choice once, not so long ago."

Twi'lek hands reached out and touched the collar. With a snap it fell open. Revan tugged it off her neck, feeling the skin around it rip and tear. She gasped in pain.

"You're bleeding," Carth 's hands were on her neck, pressing the folds of her robe to try and staunch the flow. Revan shook him away staring at the metal ring in her hands. She dropped it on the table, shivering. A wave of nausea, lightheadedness, everything looked strangely focused somehow and she was surrounded by a warm bath of energy that felt like a song. She felt the world _shift_, felt the Force shimmer and tremble around her.

_Like a stone in a still pool. Who else will have heard it fall?_

"Here —" Yuthura gestured and the wounds closed. Her eyes were wide and she smiled crookedly. "It _is_ you," she said softly. "Oh my friend . . . it's good to have you back."

Revan sank back in her chair, and closed her eyes. She struggled to calm herself, dull the aching in her head. She tried to reach for the Force but it danced away from her, slippery as a tissnek eel. She took a deep breath, and then another.

"Don't draw on it, not yet." Yuthura's voice floated above her, a ball of purple and white light. "Your control is gone completely. You will have to work very hard to regain it."

"Regain it again . . ." Revan whispered, agreeing.

She opened her eyes and looked down at her hands. The same gray flesh striated with black mocked her. "It takes time," Yuthura said, seeing her expression. "Time for the marks to fade."

A warning bell chimed and the door slid open. "The prosecution requests that the trial begin now," the Selkath guard said. "Further delay will not be tolerated."

"I'm ready." Revan took Carth's hand and stood up slowly, wincing at the stiffness in her body. _I've been sick for so long . _. .

The Selkath noticed nothing. She leaned on Carth; Yuthura at her other side, glancing at her occasionally as if she couldn't quite believe what she saw.

Revan pulled the hood back over her face.

"Let me do the talking," Yuthura said gently. "Just breathe, my friend. Stay calm."

A whisper of Selkath voices when she entered the chambers again. One of them looked agitated and she felt the unease from him even half a room away. _Force sensitive,_ Revan thought. _Every Force sensitive person on the planet felt that. I only hope most don't know what they felt. _The Force sang to her like her mother's lullaby, warm and safe. Beckoning and alluring and so beautiful. _Stay calm. _She clung to Carth, feeling the press of two Force-trained minds on her own like a vise. Her walls did not falter.

Kel's face was empty, but again his hands betrayed him. They were clenched into fists. Across the room the other man — _my uncle, my old Master — _Vrook was a still statue in a brown robe. His hood was thrown back, and his eyes glinted dark in his weathered face. She looked away quickly, staring at the ground.

"We'll begin," the agitated judge said. "The defense may speak first."

"My client is unhinged and delusional," Yuthura murmured respectfully. "She's part of an Alderaanian theatre troupe. Their ship was wrecked on Kashyyyk. Since then she has believed herself to be Darth Revan. Although she raised her hand as if to strike the worthy Kel Algwinn, I will attest that she has no real Force affinity. Her gesture was meaningless, an empty threat. I humbly request that you release her to my custody. I will ensure that she poses no danger to herself, or anyone else."

Revan counted the tiles. A mosaic on the floor of a great shark surrounded by a myriad of swimming Selkath. She'd never noticed it before. _Their god that I killed._

The judges murmured their deliberations with a clapping of fins and gurgles, their words too soft and swift for her to catch. There was an undercurrent of tension, like lines drawn in the sand between Kel and Vrook. She couldn't begin to guess their thoughts, or their motives.

_Please let me get Carth out of here without killing anyone,_ Revan thought.

"You raise interesting points," one of them said finally. "And the story checks with the data we have compiled. We will now hear the prosecution."

Kel raised his head. _He was so young and soft on Korriban, what happened to him?_ His features were etched now with a trace of darkness, and set in a cold hard mask.

"The prosecution wishes to withdraw the charges," he said. "I will concur with the Jedi's opinion." His lip twisted a little and he looked at Yuthura with loathing. "The woman Numu Ran poses no real threat, and she is unhinged. As recompense for her injuries I would offer her hospitality in the Sith Embassy, under my own personal guard. Her . . . person and her companions would be quite safe there, that I can assure her." He glanced at Revan quickly, and then looked away again.

The judges conferred. "Most unusual," one of them muttered.

"Let the Sith sort it out themselves," another gurgled.

"The Jedi Yuthura claims the woman is no Sith," the agitated selkath hissed. "How can we release a citizen of Alderaan to a hostile environment?"

"The fine is non-refundable," one of the judges reminded Kel.

"I don't care about the fine. And you misunderstand. Numu Ran is free to go where she wants. I would be honored if she would come with me. It's a request, nothing more." Kel looked at her again, and bowed his head slightly.

"If there are no charges the case is dismissed." The Selkath waved his flippers formally and the other judges echoed the gesture. "You are both free to go, but please understand further infractions of Manaan laws will result in permanent exile from the planet, at the very least."

"I — understand," Revan said quietly, and Carth nodded his head.

She kept her head down, not daring to look back at Kel or Vrook and turned around, began walking out of the chamber, trying to keep herself from breaking into a run.

"Thank you, friend . . . "

"Don't thank me yet," the Twi'lek said at her side. "Walk a little faster if you can. I'm going to have much to answer for."

"They're following us," Carth said. "Not doing anything, just following. Both of them, Kel and Vrook."

"They're afraid," Revan said, trying to walk faster. "Afraid and . . . and hopeful expectant. The hope is the worst it's smothering." She blinked her eyes hard. _No more crying._

Across the courtyard. Zaalbar and Canderous, talking to a small Rodian. _Oh no, not that small rodian. Not now, not now. Not ever . . ._

Zaalbar roared a pleased hello. "You move better, Polla Organa," he said approvingly. "Are you cured?"

"Start walking with us," Carth whispered. "We're being followed."

"It's always good to see old friends," the Rodian said brightly. Revan stopped dead and looked at him.

"Hulas." She nodded. "My apologies, we're in a hurry." A hint of the Force around the little assassin. _Just enough to tell who I am. If figures. _Revan wondered why she'd never noticed it before.

"Ah now," Hulas said. "I see you have friends." He looked back to where Vrook and Kel stood, almost side-by-side. They weren't speaking to each other, only watching, watching with expressionless faces. Old and young, light and dark, and set in an identical expression.

_The next move is mine._

"I don't want to interrupt," the Rodian continued. "But we have some unfinished business. Two out of three, you have my thanks. Rulan Prolik won't amount to much stuck on Kashyyyk . . . I'll withdraw that contract. In any event, I owe you for your work. Here." He pressed a datapad into her hand. "Good luck, Lord Revan," he said.

"Who are you?" Carth asked defensively. He put his arm around Revan.

"_She_ knows," the Rodian chuckled. "Read the datapad, it's important. Clever of you to fake your death like this. You even fooled us. The Jedi believe in the Force, but pardon, Lord Revan, I'd say luck has been on your side."

"Thanks," Revan muttered, desperate to get away. She began walking again, her companions trailing behind her like a herd of confused trawler deer.

"Who was that?" Carth asked again, close at her side.

"A former business partner," she said from the corner of her mouth. "Later, Carth, later. We need to get off this planet."

"I'll try and delay them, Vrook and Kel both," Yuthura murmured. "May the force keep you safe." The Twi'lek turned back and walked quickly to where the two men were standing. Revan walked faster.

"No cameras in the landing bay," Canderous reminded her. "If either side tries any tricks it will be there."

"I know." Revan sighed. _Please let us get off Manaan without killing anyone._

_Revan_

A thought like a spark in her mind. Familiar as an uncle's kiss on her forehead when she was a child of ten having nightmares again about fire and death. Vrook's thoughts pierced her defensives as gently as a hug.

_Let me go, please._

_When I felt you fall again, I mourned. When I felt you die I thought at least you'd finally found peace._

_Peace is a lie. _Revan bit her lip, wishing she could take the thought back. The Sith code mocked her. _Just let me go._

"Yuthura's not having much luck," Revan said out loud. "At least not with Vrook. Start running."

"What, no let's stay and save the kolto, redeem the Sith, and do some favors for the Republic?" Canderous asked, breaking into a light jog. Beside her, Carth's armor creaked. Mandalorian armor wasn't built for speed.

With Zaalbar in the lead they plowed through a platoon of Republic soldiers. "Watch where you're going citizen," one of them said indignantly. They jostled through a crowd of Sith. "How rude," one of them sneered.

The docking bay doors were ahead of them. Revan didn't dare look behind. "Run faster," she whispered, pulling at the Force a little to speed their steps, and stop the ache in her unused muscles, the stitch in her side." Her fear fed her power and she felt it flex sluggishly, just another muscle rusty from disuse.

The bays to Dock 1290 slid open, and there she was, their freighter, engines humming. The docking ramp was down like a welcome. Carth had named her, Revan noticing the Telosian lettering on the side of the hull. _The Lady's Luck. Pray I have some_.

"Cameras deactivated." The disembodied voice spoke. "We hope you had a pleasant stay on Manaan."

"Thank the Force," Revan gasped, running up the ramp with Carth and Canderous on her heels. Zaalbar was already inside barking out commands to HK. The ship was huge, but the bridge was right off of the cargo hold, next to the ramp. Huge and clumsy. She'd been too out of it to notice before. _Hope she flies better than she looks._

"Master, you look restored. But we have a problem," the droid said flatly. "We've been accused of breaking the Manaan law regarding the import of prohibited substances from proscribed worlds. We do not have permission to leave."

_Not that easy. Of course not._


	5. The Lucky Lady

**Chapter 5 / The Lucky Lady**

Disclaimer, as previous 12/2004 continuity edit. Standardizing formatting, revised HK's dialogue a little, clarified a few points, etc.

* * *

Thank the Force," Revan gasped, running up the ramp with Carth and Canderous on her heels. Zaalbar was already inside barking out commands to HK. The ship was huge, but the bridge was right off of the cargo hold, next to the ramp. Huge and clumsy. She'd been too out of it to notice before. _Hope she flies better than she looks._

"Master, you look restored. But we have a problem," the droid said flatly. "We do not have permission to leave. We've been accused of breaking the Manaan law regarding the import of prohibited substances from proscribed worlds."

_Not that easy. Of course not._

* * *

"When did you learn this?" Carth asked angrily. 

"Approximately fifteen standard minutes ago. Suggestion: we could try and take off anyway, but the planet's defense systems are well-designed. Any craft attempting to leave orbit without permission can be vaporized. The odds of survival, especially for you meatbags, are very low. Recommendation: we'd do better slaughtering the fishes on the ground."

"What was it?" Zaalbar growled. "The tach?"

"Supposition: probable. The condemnation wasn't clear. It has been requested that we turn ourselves in to either the Sith or the Republic authorities. They've said that either will do, but that they'd prefer not to have to go through the trouble of having another trial for us on Manaan. Did the first one not go well, Master?"

"They must know, some of the selkath." Revan said. "Everyone will know soon." She stared at the control panel hopelessly. "What do we do now?"

"Suggestion: reclaim your rightful place as ruler of the Sith. The Republic will not offer the same benefits that your power can give you among the Sith."

"Thanks, HK. Now shut up." Carth hissed.

"How long do you think I'll survive as Lord of the Sith?" Revan laughed bitterly.

"I have an idea," Zaalbar growled. "We stall."

"Stall for time?" Revan said quickly. "How much do you think they'll give us?"

"Kashyyyk has valuable resources, valuable to both governments. We're here under diplomatic treaty. That will make them reluctant to force the issue."

"For a little while," said Carth. "Kashyyyk has no armies, minimal planetary defenses...if either side decided to waltz in and occupy it, your people would be trapped like tach in a net."

Carth's Shryiiwook had improved to have caught all of that. Quickly she explained it to Canderous.

"My people have been working on that, thanks to you, Polla Organa," the wookiee said. "The Mission-computer has helped them install a few things."

Revan frowned. "What sorts of things?"

"Better weaponry. We've activated a few of the old Czerka orbitals. If they chose to invade Kashyyyk they would not find us easy targets. Not again."

"That computer..." Revan's voice trailed off, uncertainly.

_That computer is dangerous. _

_So why did you install Mission Vao's personality in its circuits? Why did you give Freyyr and Zaalbar free access?_

_I didn't know what else to do. We needed an advantage, I gave us one. I hope I wasn't wrong._

_I've been wrong a lot._

"Okay," she agreed. "We stall for time. Warn Freyyr, send a transmission. Try to be subtle because I'm sure they're scanning everything we send out. How much time should I ask for?"

"You're either the Dark Lord of the Sith or the savior of the galaxy," Canderous shrugged. "Don't ask. Tell."

"Transmission coming in," HK said. "They are requesting a visual response from the human female known as Numu Ran."

"Who is requesting?" Revan frowned. Her newly awakened Force sense sang in her thoughts like the ocean calling to her. _She could know who was asking if she wanted to. _She pushed it away.

"Selkath Authority on behalf of a Master Vrook. He requests permission to board. He wishes to speak to you."

"Activate visual," Revan said. The holo-image shimmered on the screen. The old man stared at her, his mouth set in a grim line.

"We need to talk," he said.

Revan pushed back her hood and stared at him, knowing the impression it would make. She wasn't sure what she felt. "Talk," she said coolly.

"May I come aboard?"

"Are you the one who stopped us from leaving?" Carth said angrily at her back.

Vrook frowned. "No," he said. "Please let me come aboard."

"Let him board, HK," Revan said sighing.

"Do I have permission to kill him, Master, if he acts in an aggressive manner?" the droid asked her hopefully, eyes gleaming with predatory glee.

"Yes," Revan said. "I mean, maybe. No. I don't know."

Creak of the landing ramp lowered again and footsteps walking slowly up. Vrook's face in the doorway staring at her. "Sit down," she said. "_Uncle Vrook."_

"You remember."

"Not much," she answered. "If I asked you to tell me what happened, what happened to me—as Revan and what you did to me to make me Polla Organa--would you?"

The old Jedi sat in the console chair awkwardly and stared at her. "Some things are best forgotten," he said in a bleak voice. "You may want to discuss this alone."

"We're not leaving her," Carth told him. "Whatever it is, say it in front of us."

"I don't understand your part in this, Captain Onasi." Vrook frowned. "The reports say you were picked up on the Rakatan homeworld and demanded to be taken to the Star Forge. The Republic needed you, and you turned your back on us to follow her. Why?"

"Follow me..." Revan glared at her uncle. "Follow me? Carth _saved_ me. Saved me from myself and from _you._" Bile in her throat and the edge of anger. _Dangerous anger._ Vrook's eyes watched her steadily. "The Council sent me off to die. You lied to me. You took away my _mind._.." The anger was like a song, it would be so easy to twist it, use it, feed it. A little flame that could grow...

"Polla," Carth said. He grabbed her hands and held them in his own. Warm and safe and strong. She blinked and took a deep breath. _Let it go. Don't call me Polla. Let it go._

"What do you want, Uncle. Why are you here?"

The old Jedi sighed. "I felt you fall to the Dark side, Revan. I felt you fall twice, and I felt you die twice. I'm—happy to see you alive, whether you believe that or not."

"That's nice," Revan said, regaining her composure. "It's nice to see you too, you're the only family I have now? I wouldn't know for sure, since all my memories are from some stranger's mind..." _Well perhaps not that much composure._

"Just you and I." Vrook said. "I came to warn you, your life is in danger."

"Well. That's new and different, isn't it?" Revan tried to pull away from Carth but he held her close. Vrook watched them, his face was sad.

"We tried," Vrook continued, "not to let it be known that you fell to the Dark Side, that you killed Bastila as well as Malak. We wanted you to be a hero for the Republic. The Republic needs that badly now and you...you deserved it."

"But that was when I was dead," Revan said mockingly. "A live Revan is more problematic."

"It was...difficult regardless. Every life you touched that could sense the Force felt you fall, niece. Every life that knew Bastila felt her die. We tried...used the vids, the media, to make sure that wasn't widely known—but rumors... Look at the Sith here on Manaan. They knew you'd become one of them at the end again. Otherwise why would there be so many pretending to be you?"

"I don't know, my pretty face?" She grimaced. "I'm hardly the first Jedi to fall to the dark side and then be redeemed, Uncle. Look at Qel-Dorma."

"Look how he died. A sniper's blaster, from a soldier whose family he'd slaughtered."

"Perhaps that's the end, I deserve. What do you think?" If only Carth would let go of her hands. She frowned at him.

"Are you redeemed, Revan?"

_Ah that is the question._ "I don't know," she said. "I'm sorry...for the things that I remember." _I hate you for the things I don't._

"Your intentions were good. They were good the first time too." Vrook said. "That was the real tragedy."

"What were they—the first time?" He knew, Revan realized with a sudden shock. Vrook knew everything about her. About her past, about her mistakes, about her fall. Everything. _Everything.__ Do I even want to know? I haven't looked at those archives since the day I recovered them. I haven't wanted to know._

His voice was quiet. "I think it began...when you had a chance—or thought you did—to stop the Mandalore before he began the assault on Republic space. You didn't. You blamed yourself, afterwards, for not taking it."

"You mean, kill the Mandalore."

"Yes."

Canderous muttered something in the background. Revan glanced over at him. "Do you know anything about this Cand'?" She asked him.

The Mandalorian shrugged. "No. But if you have a chance to kill your enemies you should take it."

"So I didn't kill him and he slaughtered millions and I felt bad about it? So bad, that _after_ I stopped him I uncovered an old dark power and took over the Sith Empire, to right my wrongs? Is that it, Uncle?" Revan kept her voice light and even.

Vrook shrugged. "Pretty much, yes."

"I was barely more than a child, I was...twenty three? Why didn't the Council stop me? Why didn't anyone stop me, if what I did was so wrong?"

Vrook stared at her helplessly. "It was not so easy to know what was wrong, not at first." His voice hardened and he looked at the men. "They were there, Canderous Ordo and Carth Onasi. They were in the wars. Ask them."

"You were a hero," Carth said quietly. "You and Malak. No one knew who you were, only that you were Jedi and you gave us hope. I never even saw your face Revan, but I still followed you." His face was careful, as if there were memories underneath those simple words that he didn't want to say.

Revan bit her lip and looked at Canderous.

"You were the most formidable foe we had ever faced. It was an honor to fight you. The rest of the Republic armies would cower behind women and children, hide in cities full of civilians as if they expected us not to strike. You met us face on and you bested us. You won, Revan. I've told you this before." Canderous rubbed the scar above his eye absently.

She shrugged. "What made me so special, why would all of these people follow me?"

"It wasn't just you," Carth said. His eyes were very dark and he spoke reluctantly. "It was Malak too. He was a Senator's son, and you were...your tactics, your charisma, your vision. You were a legend. But also, what you fought for was popular. No one was happy about the wars in the Outer Rim, a stream of refugees came back with stories of the Mandalorian atrocities. You fought for a popular cause."

"Atrocities," Canderous frowned and glared at Carth—just a spark of their old disagreement. "It was war, that was all. Atrocities happen."

"They mean more to the refugees, to people like Juhani or Mission," Revan whispered.

_Damnit.__ Don't think of them._

_I know you won't kill me, Polla. You're not Revan, you're not really her._

_I won't kill you Mission, but Zaalbar will if I tell him too._

She glanced at the wookiee, meeting his dark eyes. He stood, a silent sentinel in the back of the room, monitoring the comm links. His voice was low, a soft growl.

"Don't do this, Polla Organa. It makes you unhappy and the dead are dead. There's no point." Zaalbar gestured sadly.

"If you have a chance to kill your enemies you should take it," she said, echoing Canderous. "Juhani and Jolee thought that was true. And they tried." She looked at her uncle. "Is that what you think?"

"You're not my enemy now, Revan."

She smiled, mirthless. "How can you be sure of that?"

"I sense no darkness in you."

She scowled. "You sense light?"

Vrook sighed. "No. You always had the potential for great good or great harm. That hasn't changed. There are some in the Order who think that makes you a threat. But I am not one of them."

"You were hard on me, when I was Polla. I thought you hated me."

"I hated what they'd done to you!" The old Jedi's face twisted, then smoothed as he regained composure. "You weren't yourself. I argued against the mindwipe. But Vandar...and the Council...they thought Revan was a danger to herself and to the galaxy...at best they thought you wouldn't be able to live if you knew what you'd done."

"I didn't want to live, but my friends didn't give me a choice."

"It's good," Vrook said, "that you have such loyal companions."

"It's a terrible tragedy that I killed half of them," Revan said. If she kept repeating it, maybe it would stop hurting. Carth was still holding her hands in his. She watched him wince.

"Stop it, Revan," he said sharply.

"The Council sent me back to face the same power that turned me before. Alone. Did they think I'd changed, that things would be any different? I felt it on Dantooine, at the first Star Map, something—power..." She closed her eyes and tried to breathe. "I didn't know what it was, but I knew even then that I—wanted it. The Council knew that I'd fall but they thought they could learn the location of the Star Forge, drive a wedge in—and if I killed Malak for them they'd have a chance..."

"No, Revan." Vrook shook his head sadly. "It wasn't like that. The Council had faith in you, faith in Bastila..."

"Bastila..." She pulled away from Carth angrily.

_Sometimes I think the Council has sent me on a fool's mission. Sometimes I doubt their wisdom. Does it frighten you, Polla, to hear I have doubts? The dark-haired girl laughed nervously._

"Make them let me go, Uncle. Please. I can't go back to the Republic, and the—alternative scares me."

"I will do what I can to help." Vrook stared at his hands. "Your life is in danger—niece. If you can get off this planet, you should. Soon. Yuthura and I are not the only ones who will sense your wakening here...there are others, some you may not remember. Others that have not forgotten--perhaps cannot forgive—despite the tenets of our Order."

The comm link chimed. Zaalbar growled. "A request to come aboard. A Sith, Kel Algwinn."

"No." Carth said.

Revan laughed harshly. "Let him come."

Zaalbar muttered something, but punched in the access codes. Revan stood there, arms crossed, trying not to shiver.

Kel came up the ramp and into the room. _At least he's not disguised as Malak again. I don't think I could stand that, seeing that face. Not now._ Kel's own face looked very young. He looked like he was trying to look unimpressed, and failing badly.

"I felt you die," he said to her.

"You almost killed me," Revan said flatly.

"Yuthura, my old teacher...she—healed you somehow? You had no force in you, and then in the courtroom I felt you rise again."

"Something like that. What do you want Kel?"

"Want? To serve you, Lord Revan." His voice was sincere, but something glittered dark in his eyes. Greed maybe. Expectation. Desire.

Vrook coughed, and Kel noticed him, perhaps for the first time. His lip curled.

"So, you're listening to more lies from the Council?" His young voice was high with scorn.

"I'm trying to get off this planet, actually. Someone seems to have told the Selkath authorities that we can't leave. Was it you?"

"No—why would want to leave?" Kel sounded incredulous.

"Maybe I just hate Manaan."

"Let me help you, Darth Revan. The pretenders will fall before you, we'll restore the kolto and the Sith will control the planet." The words fell out of his mouth with all the urgency and righteousness of the very young.

"Sounds great. Let me think. No." Revan took a deep breath. "Why did you go back to the Sith, Kel?"

"How can you ask me that!" He stared at her in disbelief. "We were on Coruscant, when I felt you...become our true Master again. The others all denounced your name, they seemed to forget we owed you our lives."

"Others?" Carth interjected casually.

"The others from Korriban. They went running to the Jedi Council like frightened children. I left on the next freighter for Manaan. A few weeks later I felt you—die, or so I thought. But even dead you had shown us the true path of the Sith. You showed me, Dark will always triumph in the end."

"So this is all my fault! Of course it would be. Bastila and Malak blamed me too. Malak blamed me for his fall with his dying breath. I must be so powerful, to touch so many lives."

Revan turned away from them all, struggling for control. Static electricity whispered against her skin, as if the very air around her was charged with it. Something flickered in her hands, energy, power, the Force...building up like a charge. She panicked. _No._ But it rose. She threw her hands towards the wall, and it obligingly blew open. Twisted metal, fell into the next room. Burned circuitry. _I wonder what part of the ship I just destroyed._

"Revan." Vrook sighed and got to his feet. Small flames gutted in the hole in the wall she'd made and he waved a hand, quieting them. "Your control is gone," he said. "You need to get it back."

Carth moved forward hesitantly to inspect the damage. "Just the cargo lift," he said. "Nothing major, beautiful, it's fine." His voice was steady and calm. A perfect lie.

The comm link chimed again. "They're wondering about the explosion. Also, Yuthura Ban requests permission to board." Zaalbar looked at her. Was that disapproval in his eyes? Revan looked away and crossed her arms, staring hard at the place where she'd blasted the wall. _See what happens? All you can do is destroy._

"It's a party. Pity we don't have anything festive to share with our guests. Unless maybe they'd like some nice tach glands?"

Canderous glowered. "I need a drink," he said quietly. He got up, rolling with his warrior's swagger and disappeared down the hall.

She didn't want to look at Carth. "I wish you'd all leave her alone," her lover said. "She's suffered enough."

"Tell them we had an equipment malfunction," Revan said absently to Zaalbar.

"I already did, and Yuthura's boarding now."

"Thanks Zaal." Revan rubbed her temple. She felt like her head should hurt now, but it didn't. In fact she felt fine, better than fine. She only wished she was somewhere else.

Anywhere.

* * *

_"Reunion?__ What do you mean, reunion?" _

_His mocking laughter.__ "Can this be true? You still haven't realized, you still don't know who you really are?"_

_Polla stared at him, stared at that terrible face from the vids and her dreams. That face, only smooth and young and unscarred. Brown curls falling in his eyes, and she pushed them back. A mouth where that metal jaw was now, a wide mouth, smiling gently. She ran her fingers down his bare chest and he sighed. _Revan...

_Mal. Mallie. _Malak.

_"What do you mean?" She tried to back away, heart pounding. Her hands were sweaty on the pommel of her saber. Red lights flashed around them, the docking bay doors were locked. He'd frozen Carth with the force, knocked him down, and Bastila only looked at her with something terrible in her eyes._

_He laughed, great booming laughter. _He'd never laughed; everything with Malak was always so serious, always so earnest, always so important.

_"Ask the Jedi," he said, gesturing to Bastila. Perhaps he'd be smiling, but the metal plate covering his jaw hid his mouth._

I don't want to know. Carth looks like a shot trawler deer. I used to go hunting with my father and cousins on Deralia and then sometimes I'd think about the stars that I'd see.Polla Organa, explorer of the galaxy._ Something bitter in her throat, like the taste of bad memory. Polla's voice choked._

_"Bastila is this true?"_

_The young Jedi sighed and destroyed her with only two words. "It's true."_

The Force can do terrible things to a mind.

_"It can't be true. I'm Polla, Polla Organa!"_

_But it was true, and she knew it. His face, so open and warm. She'd dreamed of the day when he'd look at her like this. Sand. There was sand in her hair and her eyes felt gritty with it. No matter. She pulled his cloak over them both and kissed him again. The waves lapped softly on the shore. Where were they? It didn't matter. He was here, looking at her like that, just as she'd always wanted. If his features blurred and changed, one minute Malak and one moment Carth, what did it matters?_

_She was seven, and her mother and father and grandparents beamed at her. Presents and a cake. A new hessi pony outside. On Deralia, everyone rode as soon as they could walk. A farmer's life. Her new pony had a black and blue striped coat. She was so happy and loved._

_She was crouched in a doorway surrounded by shattered stones. Death screamed in her mind. She shut it out. She was seven on Telos._

_Malak came at her suddenly, twisting his blade in an intricate pattern. They were practicing, he said she needed to learn how to beat someone stronger and faster than her and she laughed. "Let me know when you find someone like that," she said cockily. But he was, stronger and faster and the lights were red and the docking bays were locked. He'd sealed them alone in this room and his blade was red, not blue and she countered it, backing up, desperately reaching for the force with an anger and a loss that she couldn't comprehend. _

_He fell back laughing. "I've missed you Red."_

_You tried to kill me._

_I killed you._

_Sand, Endless sand.__ She was lost. Her expedition scooter was broken. Lost on Mandalore, of all places. Tents ahead, a tribe of nomads. Her jaw tightened, they wouldn't be friendly. _Malak and Vrook will find me, but I'll die without water long before they do..._She squared her shoulders and headed for the tents, trying to ignore the nausea in her gut. _Perhaps I can convince them that I am harmless.

After all, that is my mission.

_Mission__ died. Zaalbar's ancestral sword flashed in the sun and Mission fell. A deep thrust, into the ribs and up to the heart. Blood on the sand, the waves on the shore._

_She tore across the plains riding her pony. Her topknot swung over her eyes and she clutched the pony's mane tight. Yellow brush and ferra grass on her parent's farm. She was racing with her cousin Sara, and she was winning. She always won_. Polla Organa, the fastest tweener racer on all of Deralia.

_"Riding a swoop bike can't be all that different than racing a pony or piloting a fast ship," she said carelessly, shrugging off Carth's concern. "I was the tweener champion on Deralia...."_

_"You set me on this path, Revan. I wonder if our positions were reversed and I had been saved by the Council, would I have done things differently?"_

_"Probably Mal, you always were weak." She staggered a little. She was more injured than she wanted him to see._

_His dying eyes glittered. "Save me," he whispered. "Let me serve you again. I remember things you do not. I remember how it was between us. I know what there is between us, even if you do not. I know what we must reclaim. Save me Revan. Save me, Red."_

"No."_ She raised her hand and took the last bit of life from his body, drinking it greedily like a glass of cool wine. And then he died._

* * *

Voices behind her, quiet ones. The clink of glass. Carth's breath in her ear. "Revan," he said softly. "Here—" he handed her something. She took it automatically, her eyes still focused on that yellow grass below a red sun. Deralia, a world she'd never even seen. She looked down at her hand. White skin stippled with dark lines, a glass of dark liquid. 

"Mandalorian brandy," he said. "Cand's secret stash. Come back to me, Polla." He pulled at her arm.

She looked over her shoulder. The room was empty, but voices murmured from down the hall.

"They're in the rec room," he said. "Vrook said to give you some time alone. I-I'm worried about you."

"I was...remembering things. Are they all still here?"

"Oh yes." His mouth twisted. "Yuthura's managed to keep Kel on a leash, I'm not sure how. And your uncle is being very quiet."

"They're talking about me?"

He laughed. "No, they're talking about everything _but_ you. I don't think any of them know how to deal with the fact that you're alive. Yuthura wants the Sith to reach an accord with the Order, about the kolto. She wants them to work together. Vrook doesn't like that. The Selkath Authority has promised that whichever side can restore the kolto can control its distribution."

"Those stupid fish are going to drive their own planet into a bloody civil war," Revan muttered.

"It's possible," Carth said bleakly. "Kel's drunk. I think Canderous got him drunk on purpose. He's just a kid, like Dustil..."

"Has he said anything about Dustil? Yuthura said they were all on Coruscant..."

"No, I've been...trying to bring it up."

"Maybe he went to Telos? Have you looked?"

"I made inquiries when we were still on Kashyyyk. Nothing. But if Kel felt you die, Dustil must have felt it too...Kel said as much—and so he'd think I was dead—but now..." Carth frowned. " I don't know what Dustil will think now. Maybe he knows you're alive now, maybe he'll...think I am too?"

"Maybe." _If Kel is any indication, maybe Dustil won't be the loving son you dream about, my love. And somehow this is all my fault._

He must have seen the stricken expression in her eyes because he hugged her clumsily. "Not your fault!" Carth nuzzled her ear. He smelled like brandy. "The fate of the galaxy is not something that rests on one person, not ever."

"That's not what the Council taught Bastila," Revan said. "Or me."

* * *

Carth had to believe in her. Without that, all of this meant nothing. And he couldn't live with that. He tightened his arms around her. He'd taken off his armor and he could feel her skin through the thin layers of fabric separating them. Her poor skin, scarred with what the force had done to her. She hadn't looked any different on that last day, coming down to the shore with Bastila close at her heels. His first thought had been a happy one. She'd done it; she'd saved Bastila from Malak. He'd known she would. Only when she got closer did he see the blank expression in her eyes and that frozen smile, that was almost a smirk. 

_"Wait. Wait a minute. Where are the others? Juhani and Jolee Bindo?"_

_"They didn't make it," she said. Her voice was empty and hollow and her green eyes burned with something he didn't want to understand. Bastila laughed and told them all the truth. He stood there, watching her. No expression on that beautiful face. No expression at all. No tone in her voice. Her dead voice, the one he'd heard before. Long ago._

_"It's true," she said finally, damning them all. "I've reclaimed my title as the Dark Lord. Accept this. It was the only way."_

_He knew she'd kill him, he knew there was nothing he could do. He thought Mission was right behind him but that little twi'lek stayed, showed more spine than he did. For all the good it did. He heard the _Hawk's_ engines; saw the trail of ion smoke as it lifted to the sky. He ran back to the beach, hoping against hope that maybe she'd be there, maybe this was all a bad dream, but there was only Mission's body, her blood staining the sand, back bent like a broken toy._

_A few hours later, a Republic reconnaissance team found him. There was a battle in the skies above, they'd been called to help hold the Star Forge, where the few Jedi fought against the Sith. He went with them, but when they got there it was all over. He lost them somewhere, left them fighting the droids and Dark Jedi and ran, ran through echoing platforms built by alien hands. He didn't know where he was going, or what he'd do. He only knew he'd find her again. And he did._

_Her face was terrible. Her Sith face. Changed utterly. Terrible beauty. Yellow eyes and dark lines etching the contours of her cheeks, rayed around her eyes like some black sun. Bastila laughed at him, and somewhere behind him Canderous was asking a question, his tone deferential, maybe even frightened, if the Mandalorian could ever show fear. Carth only saw her, echoed empty words._

_"It's not too late my love. I came back for you. I told you I would. I won't let you do this."_

_They were on a docking platform and the Ebon Hawk waited, ramp down. Bodies all around them. Fallen Jedi, dark and light. Explosions and smoke. The Republic fleet was throwing everything it had, ramming its ships into the Star Forge. With a mechanic's certainly he knew they'd all die soon. The platform rocked. Structural damage. The air was thin and he heard the warning whine of depressurization locks. Only a little force field between them and the stars. And it wouldn't hold much longer._

_"Kill him," Bastila said. "The poor sad fool thinks he's in love with you Revan."_

_Revan didn't move, didn't react. She stood there, waiting. Waiting for what?_

_Bastila raised her hand and Carth felt a bolt of pain shoot through him. Her voice, dark and terrible. Revan's voice crying out. _

"No!"

_Bastila pleading for her life. And Revan's voice. "I'm sorry. _No

_The pain stopped and Bastila was dead. Bastila was blasted to pieces. And Revan was slumped in a heap next to him on the cold metal ground. He picked her up and looked warily at Canderous. _

_The Mandalorian justnodded at him, as if none of this was a surprise._

_"We need to get out of here. Zaalbar's on the ship." Carth nodded back. _Get out of here. Talk later. Figure this all out later._ She was alive, he'd saved her._

Saved her for what?

Revan turned around and looked at him, sipping her brandy. _Those dark lines on her pale face._ Her color was better now at least, there was a hint of rose in her cheeks again. "What are you thinking?"

"I was—remembering the Star Forge," he told her.

Her face didn't change at all. "Having second thoughts about saving me?" she said lightly.

"N-no--of course not."

She grimaced. "I can tell when you're lying, Carth. Don't forget that. Not ever."

"F-forget it," he said. "Let's join the others. Relax. You deserve it."

"I'm sure it will be very restful, spending time with Kel and Vrook," she muttered. "While we wait and see what the Republic and the Sith are going to do to us. Do to _me._ You...made me want to live again, Carth. Damn you."

He didn't know what to say. There was nothing to say. Carth decided to get very drunk.

* * *

Carth was very drunk. Under different circumstances, Revan would have thought that was funny. 

He leaned against her on the synthfoam couch, talking in a slurred voice to Yuthura about Dustil. Canderous was telling a war story to Kel, and Vrook sat alone, arms folded across his chest, a barely touched glass of brandy next to him on the servomech table. Zaalbar had muttered something in disgust hours ago and left to check the nets. She'd locked HK in the supply closet, just in case. She didn't trust herself, how could she trust her loyal assassin droid?

_Assassin..._

Revan frowned and pulled the datapad Hulas had given her out of the pocket of her robe.

The message was short, and written in an archaic form of Rodian. _He must have known I could read it anyway. Most people couldn't._

_A contract was negotiated. Three weeks later, upon news of your demise, it was cancelled by default. I expect it will be reactivated. The down payment came from Coruscant, through a Republic envoy. I regret that circumstances will put us at odds, and as payment for your services rendered, I feel obliged to warn you. They won't let you leave Manaan. Try Docking Bay 56._

"Should I even be surprised?" Revan laughed at loud. Everyone looked at her.

"I have enemies," she intoned darkly, and handed the datapad to Carth. He blinked at it, blurrily.

"What's this?" he said.

"Later, I'll tell you later."

He frowned at the datapad again and she hastily punched in a code, erasing the message. She was sure Carth couldn't read it, but was less sure of the others.

"I told you as much," Vrook said.

"You didn't tell me _who_," Revan snapped. "Should I guess? Were you afraid I'd run back to the Sith if I knew the Republic wanted me dead?"

Kel lifted his head from across the room. "The Sith are your only choice," he slurred. "Join us, lead us back to greatness again."

"I'm sorry, my friend," Yuthura said. Her purple head tails twisted, a sign of agitation.

"Yuthura," Revan said. "Talk with me." She left the room and the twi'lek followed.


	6. The Official Coruscanti Version, Episode...

Disclaimer: these characters are the property of LucasArts and Bioware's game, Knights of the Old Republic.

(And, at long last, a long-needed continuity edit and formatting edit, as of 03/05. For one thing. . . I know I originally referenced Malachor V . . . but uh, take a leap of faith with me, and pretend I meant Malachor IV. Is it, however, still dedicated to Minuet Avery and Jen Sahara – and their creators.)

**Chapter 6 / The Official Coruscanti Version**

**Episode One / The Mandalorian Wars**

Yuthura followed Revan down the hallway. The ship was huge, an old Czerka freighter with several wide doors opening to empty cargo bays. As they rounded a corner, the sound of other voices stopped. The lights were dim and flickering. Despite herself, the Twi'lek felt a pang of unease. She'd been trapped in ships like this before, branded and sold when she was no more than a child. The hallway twisted, serrated dark corusteel under her feet. The metal echoed with their footsteps. The woman she still considered her first real friend — brief as their encounter had been — turned back and looked at her, with a face covered in shadows.

"In here," Revan said, and tapped the access panel of a door. Inside: a large messy room. A portable datapad sat on a table covered with print outs and scribbled notes. Beside a narrow bed, someone had put up a folding cot. Both sleeping quarters were unmade, and the room smelled stale, like sickness and decay. Her friend wrinkled her nose, looking around as if noticing the mess for the first time. "I'm sorry," Revan said. "I — was unconscious during the trip here, I didn't realize it looked so bad . . ." She tried for a smile. "Carth's not much of a maid, I guess."

Yuthura shrugged and sat down on the cot, hiding her distaste and unease behind an unnatural calm. It was all she could do. The room, the ship — none of it bothered her half as much as this feeling she had in the pit of her stomach. Fear. Fear of her friend.

"What is it Revan?" She warmed her voice to sound as comforting as she could. It was the voice she'd used with her students on Korriban when she wanted them to tell her something important. She tried to dismiss her fears, but they hovered, unspoken, on the edge of her mind.

"Tell me about the kolto," Revan said. Her voice was flat and uninterested, as if that wasn't what she wanted to ask at all. She sat down heavily on the other bed, her back ramrod straight, and her eyes half-closed.

"The kolto." Yuthura frowned. "We do what we can, to heal the ocean, help it cleanse itself. The water was poisoned. The Selkath scientists believe there was some connection between the firaxan sharks and kolto production. The sharks are almost extinct now, but we're been trying to raise a few in captivity . . ."

"The water's poisoned — I know." Revan rubbed her eyes and looked away. "Do you — need my help?"

"Your help?" Yuthura shifted uncomfortably. "It will take years, Revan. Years of focus and healing before kolto production resumes — if it ever does. You . . . this is not your task."

"It's my fault, did you know that?"

Yuthura winced. "That is the rumor," she admitted cautiously. "But surely you know that, you've seen the vids, you know what people think happened."

"I saw part of one, in jail here on Manaan. I think Carth and the others saw more. They . . . didn't want me to know about my — fame — when I was dying." Revan scowled. "I saw a terrible vid, me and Bastila — actors with our faces and we were _— in love_?" Her voice choked off in hard laughter. "Is that what the Republic thinks?"

"Oh." Yuthura looked at her friend awkwardly. "The Telosian one probably. There are others. The official Coruscanti version is really the most — accurate." She stared at the floor feeling a twinge of guilt. She still couldn't believe they'd published that interview. She felt a pang of relief that Revan hadn't seen it yet. Seeing her alive again, it felt like a betrayal of the trust they'd shared. _The Council told me what to say — or at least, what not to say — but I made a fool of myself all on my own._

"Carth was very mysterious about you when he brought me here," Revan continued. "He made it sound like you weren't really with the Order at all. But here you are dressed in Padawan robes, staying at the Embassy. Are you with them now then, Yuthura? Do you — believe in their causes?" There was something clipped and cold in her voice that made Yuthura's hackles rise. She kept her face serene with an effort.

_I don't believe in them. But I also don't trust myself. But how can I say that to her?_

"After . . ." The Twi'lek took a deep breath. "I was on Coruscant. We all were on Coruscant. All of us that you saved from the Sith Academy. We went to the Order because we were afraid of ourselves. They gave us shelter and counsel, but we had our doubts. Then . . . we felt you fall. It frightened us. Kel ran away. Thalia, Udoo, and Ophine threw themselves on the mercy of the Council. Dustil, Mekel and I . . . didn't know what to do. The Council scared us. It had become clear —what they'd done to you." _But I had no choice, it was the only way I could live with myself._ "And then . . . three weeks later, we felt you die. After that. . . . Reporters found us. They interviewed us for — for that vid . . . and after that, the Order came to me again, and offered me — offered me — peace."

"Dustil." Revan changed the subject abruptly. "We need to find him. For Carth. Where is he now?"

"Now? I don't know. Coruscant, probably. He was when I left — when I left him." _Why should I feel guilty? He had the same offer I did. Mekel and Dustil . . . are they safe? It's not my concern._

_Why do I feel so guilty?_

XXX

_"I can't believe you're joining the Order. After what they've done." The dark-haired boy scowled at her. _

_Yuthura put her caffa bulb down and stared at the street. Down here in the Coruscanti underground there was always something to watch, people's lives unfolded all around them. Normal lives, like the ones they all desperately wanted. They were at a sidewalk cantina, sitting at a small table. Mekel only stared at the ground. Mekel rarely spoke these days, not since Korriban. Whatever had changed him there, he didn't want to talk about._

_"Why do you care so much — what they did to Revan?" Yuthura asked him. "I know she touched our lives, drew us away from the Sith—but your anger holds something more personal. What is it Dustil? After all we've been through, can't you at least tell me?"_

_His voice was flat and shadowed with ghosts. "We agreed not to talk about our pasts. No. I can't tell you . . . I won't tell you." He got up abruptly from the table. "I'm leaving," he said. "Have fun being a good little Jedi, Master Yuthura." With a doubtful glance back at her, Mekel followed. The two boys walked away, down the crowded street. Two more lost faces in the Coruscanti crowd. Yuthura did not follow them._

_XXX_

_They didn't even have any credits. They vanished and I just let them go. _

Yuthura took a deep breath, struggling for serenity. It evaded her. She struggled to feel nothing instead, that old feeling that she'd learned so long ago in the slaver pens. The numbness worked.

"Coruscant . . ." Revan said, almost dreamily, lost in her own thoughts. "It's supposed to be the jewel of the Republic. A world of sky canyons, teeming with every race in the known galaxy. The Senate is there. The Council. . . . Merchant fleets of Empire stretching towards the stars. And in Coruscant's undercity: color and life and the chatter of a thousand languages and cultures. I always wanted to see it . . ."

"You lived there." Yuthura said. "I guess you don't — "

" — remember? You'd guess right. I don't remember. Anything about Coruscant." Revan's voice was pained. "Except a feeling I had once, that I wanted to see it burn. What I remember is wanting to go there. Polla Organa wanted to go there all her life. Well, Dustil's there now still — maybe. And . . . there are other reasons. Perhaps — " her voice was deliberately careless " — perhaps we'll go."

"You can't." Yuthura said bluntly. "It's not safe. Worse than Manaan. For you."

Revan raised her eyebrows. "Why is that, Yuthura?" There was a hard edge in her voice, suddenly, as if the carelessness had all been an act.

Yuthura's skin prickled, and the words came out of her mouth, awkward and stammering. "I-I'm not sure, exactly. The Jedi Council knows the truth about you —about your fall. Some of the Senate too. The Senators . . . interviewed me, after the holovid came out. Some of them frightened me — the hatred in their voices, and what I could feel of their emotions. If I knew more I'd tell you, Revan. But I know this much, they were glad you were dead."

Yuthura wondered if the woman realized she was pushing — not just with her question and those arched brows — but also with something under the surface, with the Force. Revan's mind _pushed_ against hers like a battering ram, pressing, prying, reaching. It felt as slimy as a Hutt's tentacle, picking through her thoughts, poking them, prodding them. The Twi'lek was angry suddenly; very angry with her friend and her walls slammed shut so hard she could almost hear them snap.

"Stop it!" she said, rubbing her temples, trying not to lash out. "I don't know, Revan. It's only a feeling I have. Nothing more."

"You don't know anything more, it's true." Revan settled back down on the bed and closed her eyes. Her face looked detached, maybe a little sad. "I'm — sorry, Yuthura."

"Saying you're sorry doesn't mend the entire world!" Yuthura's temper flared. "How dare you do that to me?"

"I didn't mean to press so hard," Revan whispered, almost to herself. "But I had to know, I have to know everything. It's like I'm flying blind through a minefield. I — I don't know what to do . . ."

_What do you say to the Dark Lord of the Sith? I hardly knew what to say to you on Dreshdae, when I had no idea what you were. You bristled with the Force, told me obvious lies—and always, that cruel half-smile on your face. You asked me let you into the Academy and I did. After that, I never knew whether I should just eliminate you or follow you. . . . You were important, I knew that. You helped me with Uthar and you dragged my darkest secrets and shame out of me as if it was idle chatter in some spacer cantina._

_You had slaves, even a little Twi'lek girl — as little as I was once — but you treated them like friends. I saw that too. I saw the stricken look on your face in the dueling room; I saw the cringe in your eyes when you knelt before Uthar reciting the code. I saw the anger in your face when you spared my life. The anger and the guilt when you told me then, who you really were. . . . What do I say now?_

"You should leave Manaan," Yuthura stared at her hands. They were smooth and pale now. Not like they had been. Not like Revan's were now. Her face in the mirror was beautiful again, the Twi'lek reminded herself. No trace of the monster she'd been. But in front of her — a reminder. Revan's expression like a bad memory. _Numb, feel nothing. It's easier . . ._ "But don't go to Coruscant. Leave Republic space. For a time. Perhaps in time, things will change."

"So I've been told." Revan flopped on the bed, pulled the covers over herself and closed her eyes. Her teeth were clenched and her voice was strained. "Yuthura, I —don't trust very many people. But I trusted you — I do trust you. I need you to help me with something."

"Of course, my friend."_ I still only half believed you when I took the collar off — but then — there you were again. The Force rippled around you Revan, it burns around you. It's brighter than it ever was. It's ragged and out of control._

_I joined the Jedi to avoid losing control. Losing control again. I joined the Jedi because I was afraid of becoming — what you became. Again. Afraid of becoming a monster again._

Revan's eyes were half-lidded and a muscle twitched in her hollow cheek. "I know you're afraid of me, it's —that's fine. I can feel it, and I don't — hold it against you. Thank you for saving me anyway."

"What do you want me to do?" Yuthura frowned, and her head-tails flushed.

"Look at my mind with the Force. You're the only one I trust to do so. To look and tell me the truth. I — dream things and I remember things but it's like pieces of a broken mirror. I — I want to know if it will all come back, what being Revan means. What I've done. I remember _how_ to be Revan — what I don't know is _why_. Or — why not." Revan scrunched her eyes shut. Her voice was hesitant. "You're right, I can't control the Force right now. It brings back memories, it brings back pain, it brings back this — anger . . . and it's sweet somehow. Yuthura — I don't want to kill my friends."

_I'd almost rather you asked me to join you again for the glory of the Sith. It would be easier. It would be easier to die resisting than to do what you ask me now._

Revan's yellow eyes blinked suddenly. Her face twisted and her voice was low, oddly gentle. "I wouldn't kill you, Yuthura," she said. "I don't want to . . . kill anyone again. Please help me?"

_One of the first things taught in the Order is to help, when at all possible. No cause is too small, or too great. With the Force comes responsibility; with power comes an obligation to help others in need. You couldn't refuse Carth's request for arbitration when you thought they were Alderaanian actors. How can you refuse her now?_

"I will try," said Yuthura Ban. She took a deep breath, and tried to focus, closing her eyes and letting the Force channel through her, reaching for Revan's mind like the clasp of a hand. The Force surged around them, torn jagged edges of Revan's uncontrolled power meeting her own, smaller and cool and contained. She brushed her mind against the girl's — _you still think of her as a girl even after all that you know about her —well it's easier perhaps, than thinking the truth. She's — she's a monster._

_I can hear you. Please. Don't._

Revan's mind was a maelstrom, and it took all her efforts not to be sucked into its wake. Images flashed in Yuthura's mind and she tried not to look at them. She felt like she was spying on ghosts. _A yellow plain, a red sun. A loving family, Malak's face and Carth's. A dead little Twi'lek under an alien sun, the clash of sabers, and pain. Sand, endless sand and something twisting in her gut like knives. Racing a strange striped animal — a hessi pony — across a grassy plain. Fleets of ships moving between the stars like dancers, and worlds burning beneath them curiously beautiful in the black velvet backdrop of space. Images of the Star Forge and Malak and Bastila. And sand, endless sand._

Holes in the fabric. Gaping ones, holes and gaps like wounds, where nothing lived. Nothingness, where the Jedi had burned away pieces of her mind. Black holes, craters, where nothing would ever come again.

_I hate them for what they did to me. Hate is dangerous, hate is — power. Hate and fear. Sometimes power is necessary. The weak die. They die screaming._

Yuthura shuddered and opened her eyes.

Revan's face was untroubled, almost luminescent in the dim glow of the room's light bars. The dark bars around her face — did they look less dark now? Were they fading? The light wasn't good, and Yuthura wasn't sure. Her own Sith brands had taken months to fade. She looked at her own hands suddenly, to reassure herself—they were still pale and unmarked. Revan's eyes were closed and her chest rose and fell evenly. She looked asleep, and asleep she looked almost — innocent.

Then her eyes opened and the illusion shattered. The Sith mask was more than the lines of her face — it was in her expression. A monster. "Well?" she asked.

"I don't think your memories will — ever come back, not completely." _Be honest with her, you owe her that. Besides, she'll know if you aren't._ "There are gaps there, places where there's just . . . nothing."

_Places where they burned my mind you mean. Where they burned away everything I was and the poor weak fool's mind they implanted couldn't fill the emptiness._

The thought was so vitriolic it made her gasp. Revan sat up, pulling the blankets around herself. Her thin shoulders shrugged. "Sorry," she said out loud. "I — am trying, Yuthura. Really, I am."

"I know that," Yuthura said softly.

_You are trying, but is it enough?_

The thought made both of them shiver.

"I just want to know — I should know, know who I am, know what I've done, I don't even know how I — what happened. Shouldn't I know, Yuthura? Shouldn't I know about my own life?"

"Have you . . . looked on the nets?" Yuthura asked gently.

Revan scowled. "When I found out who I was, I did. Before I fell. There wasn't much there. I looked on the way to Korriban."

She closed her eyes and recited the words like a schoolgirl learning a lesson by route. "Revan and Malak defied the Council and won the war. They went to the Outer Rim chasing the last stragglers of the Mandalorian fleet. They came back with a bigger fleet. They came back as evil Sith and began destroying worlds, conquering them. Telos. Endar. Ossus. Yu-Phaedra. Echanis, Arkania, Donovia. Revan was killed. Malak became the Dark Lord . . . and so on." Her voice dropped to a whisper, and her eyes opened. "There was nothing about me in those facts, Yuthura."

"There's . . . more about you on the nets now."

"I'd assume that is why Carth restricted my access," Revan said. "More what? Tales of the evil Dark Lord? A fable about her redemption before her glorious noble death?"

"Sort of. But you should see . . . perhaps there's something that can answer some of your questions Revan, even if much of it is — was — designed to provoke a specific response."

Hesitantly someone knocked at the door. "Polla?" Carth Onasi's voice, sounding worried. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine. Come in Carth." Yuthura wondered if Revan knew how her face looked, how it brightened at the sound of his voice. Like a flower turning towards the sun. The darkness around her seemed to fade a little, replaced by something that almost looked like hope. _Can hope save her? Oh, I hope — if anything can it could. She needs to get away; she needs to get away from all of this. _

Yuthura had given up on hope long ago, when she'd been younger than — that child's name — Mission Vao. What was left after was something she knew only too well, this numbness, this acceptance, so close to the Jedi discipline and yet so far. Sometimes she thought she still tilted on the edge of a precipice — balanced between dark and light, ready to fall either way. _Instead I endure and do what I can,_ she thought. _It's all I can do._

Revan's lover came in, glancing at the disorder, almost embarrassed. "Sorry," he muttered to Yuthura. "We didn't clean up much in here."

"It's fine, Carth. Yuthura doesn't care. Stop calling me Polla."

"Sorry, old habits . . ." He smiled at Yuthura and went to Revan, putting his arms around her protectively. He still seemed a little drunk, but his eyes were clear. "Thank you for saving her," he said to Yuthura. His eyes were golden brown and earnest.

"I should say the same to you, I think." Yuthura answered him, trying to keep her tone light.

"Yuthura says I should watch the holovid. About my life," Revan said softly, looking up at him. "Will you . . . stay with me while I do?"

Carth's face darkened for a moment and he swallowed hard. "The vids," he repeated. Almost gingerly he lifted a hand from around Revan's waist and pushed back his hair nervously. His other hand pulled her closer in an unconscious shielding gesture. "You mean the official version, don't you?"

"Of course," Yuthura said, meeting his eyes._ I can understand why he doesn't want her to see it, but it's wrong to hide her past from her. Cruel. Perhaps even selfish._

"Let's watch it now," Revan said.

"N-now?" His voice cracked. "It's almost twenty hours of footage, beautiful. We don't have time for this now. It's late, we need to sleep — tomorrow — we need to figure out a plan. Zaalbar's stalled for time with the Selkath — like we discussed — but we're still trapped here."

"We'll watch some of it now," Revan repeated stubbornly. "And you'll unrestrict my access to the nets. I have . . . a plan. Of sorts. Trust me, Carth. I promise I'll tell you about it. But — later."

Her eyes flickered towards Yuthura, and the Twi'lek nodded understandingly. "I agree," she said gently. "It's best if I don't know. It's late . . . perhaps I should go . . ."

"No," Revan said. "Watch this with us. I need someone to tell me . . . what the rest of the galaxy believes. You're staying."

Yuthura wondered if Revan knew about the edge of Force compulsion in her words. She decided it would be best not to tell her.

_Best for me. I will not fall again, I will not. I'll help save the kolto, and then I'll — do something else. Soon Revan will go, she'll go away and I won't have to think about her any more. Think about my friend. My first friend. My first friend the monster._

"We can watch Episode One, I guess." Carth sighed. "You — you should know." He laughed. "I read they're teaching it in schools now. You have a right to know what every eight-year old child in the galaxy knows . . . about your own past."

He got up from her, untangling himself, and went to the console, tapped in a brief command. "It came out while we were on Kashyyk," he told her. "You were so sick there — I — I didn't want you to see it, then. I didn't want to upset you . . ."

"Is it really that bad?"

"Well — " Carth grimaced and switched on the particle screen. An image flickered to life around him, a black veil of space, scattered with a thousand shining suns. His body flickered into shadow, lit by the stars as he made his way back to the bed. "Sort of."

XXX

_Music. A single melody, soft and quiet, hushed. A Sssyrian pan flute, playing minor chords. _

_A narrator's voice, and white letters against the black screen._

_For fifteen thousand years the Republic has stood as a glorious beacon of light amidst the darkness of the galaxy. From ages past up until the present days, in times of tyranny and suffering, heroes are born from the fabric of everyday life to take their place among the pantheon of noble sentients who protect and guide us. Courageous men and women who, against all odds, overcome obstacles, and rise above the petty differences of worlds to fight against injustice. To fight for the Republic. Over the ages, many of these heroes have come from the Jedi Order._

"Unsurprisingly, many of the villains come from the Jedi Order too," Revan commented.

_. . . with power comes great responsibility and great danger. For those born with the Force, life is never easy, or simple. Sacrifice, discipline, and control are all things that any Force-sensitive child must learn. They are a shield against the dark side. For as the Force is life, as it sings through all living things, it is also darkness. Many Jedi struggle and many have fallen. For every hero who wielded the Force for the good of the Republic, there is another who fell into temptation and darkness. The lure of the Dark Side is powerful, but the Jedi believe that even the darkest soul can be redeemed. _

_This is the story of one woman's noble crusade, to end tyranny and save the Republic. This is the story of one woman's fall. This is the story of her final redemption. This is the story of Revan Starfire._

_There is no death; there is only the Force. _

The narrator's voice was female, but oddly cold and mechanical. The words scrolled in stark Basic text, across a backdrop of stars. The music was stirring, a variation on the Republic anthem.

Carth looked at her, shaking his head a little. Revan burrowed her head into his chest, turning around so that his body was wrapped around her own again, and watched the vid out of the corners of her eyes. His touch was comfort, like a balm to her shattered nerves.

_The stars dissolved into a young woman's face. An earnest face, black hair, wide cheekbones, and a calm smooth mouth. Her eyes were a piercing shade of bluish green and she wore a simple Jedi knight's robe. She was no one that Revan recognized, but there was something familiar about her. She spoke in that strange flat voice. Trace of a Tyrlian accent maybe, but only a trace. Behind her were white steps leading up to a gleaming building built of white stone. The sky above was milk-white, covered in clouds._

_"Coruscant", the woman said. "The Jedi Temple. For thousands of years the Order has gathered in this holy place of refuge. It is here that the Jedi train the Knights of our order. My name is Karolla Edwa, and I am a Jedi Knight. I was on the Star Forge, and I was the last person to see Revan Starfire and Bastila Shan alive."_

"You were?" Revan muttered in disbelief. She frowned, the face was familiar.

XXX

_"You made it!" The woman's voice was girlish and full of exuberant glee. Her companions _— more young cannon fodder sent by the Council to die — _beamed happily at them. "Quick, we have to break through to the Command center before those bastards know we're here." _

_Revan eyed her cautiously, aware of Bastila flanking her, just as wary. Canderous was on her other side, a silent presence in thick armor, awaiting her command. The Force swirled around them like a song. It was so powerful here it was hard to tell dark from light — an advantage, our advantage — she thought. These Jedi have no idea . . . not yet. She opened her mouth to say something appropriate — they could be useful — but the hangar doors hissed open and a flock of Sith came running down the ramp._

_"Damn," the young woman swore. "They're on to us! Don't worry; we'll hold them off. You must go — go defeat Malak. We'll hold them off here."_

_"Okay," Revan said. Just one word, as much a command to Bastila and Canderous as it was an agreement with the Jedi. "Good luck," she added smiling faintly. Then she ran, Bastila and Canderous at her heels. Malak was the key. Nothing else mattered._

If you live, little Jedi, I'll deal with you later. After I win. If I — if I win.

XXX

_We held them off, the woman continued. My companions died. Revan and Bastila and the Mandalorian — _"he has a name," Revan muttered —_went into the Star Forge alone. Their mission: to defeat Malak and lower the final defense shields around the station's core power converter. I was the last one to see them alive. As everyone knows, the Star Forge was destroyed. They won. I waited as long as I could in the hanger, but someone had to carry the tale back to the Republic. They never made it back. _

_XXX_

"Defense shields?" Revan turned her head around and looked at Carth. "What defense shields?"

"There were several teams of demolitions experts and Jedi, " he said. "I came up with one of the last. I guess one of the teams succeeded, or the Star Forge would have never been destroyed."

"Nice of them to give me the credit," Revan whispered, acid welling in her throat. "So, how exactly did I save anyone?"

"You — stopped three Sith from becoming . . ."

"It's possible we all would have died anyway," Revan said darkly. " The Star Forge, did, I believe, blow up? Three Sith. You mean Malak. Bastila. And me. Thanks Carth." She bit her lip.

_I'm no hero. I'm nothing. I was a fool. All I saw was Malak. All I thought about was killing him. Everything I did . . . I did for him. To kill him._

_Why?_

_Because I hated him._

_Why?_

_He tried to kill me. He —_ She slammed her thoughts shut like a vise. The memories were gone; all that was left was the emotion. It was still so dark that she could taste it in her mouth, like ashes.

_Ashes and sand and pain. Her mouth was so dry. She'd bitten her tongue, and warm calloused hands forced a strip of hard leather between her teeth, wiped the blood from her lips. Breathe, a woman's voice said. In Mandalorian._

Carth's arms hugged her close. "Shhh, beautiful," he said.

The narration continued, the scene changed to a simple garden. Green sculpted bushes, low white benches and a vast soft lawn surrounded by high white walls.

_. . . here in this place of contemplation and meditation, Revan Starfire was given her first task on the journey to Knighthood. She, and Malak D'Reev were sent to the Outer Rim, to examine the Mandalorian threat. That was nine years ago. Even then the Jedi were concerned that the armies gathering under the Fett Mandalore would eventually try and expand their Empire into Republic space._

_Their mission was a peaceful one, a diplomatic envoy. Accompanied only by Master Vrook Lamarr, a member of the Jedi Council, the two young padawans set out. The Jedi believe that understanding an enemy is the first step to overcoming one. If they could convince the Mandalore to cease his hostilities, perhaps the galaxy could find peace again._

Vrook's face appeared on the particle beam screen, looking as lined and careworn as it always had, as long as she could — or couldn't remember.

_"This is the tale of Revan Starfire," he said roughly. The tale of Revan, the Prodigal Knight."_

Music surged and his face faded back to a backdrop of stars. White words against the blackness of space.

_The Tale of Revan, The Prodigal Knight _

_Episode One: The Mandalorian Wars_

In slightly different text, smaller down, as if it had been added later, more words scrolled hastily across the screen.

_This version is authorized by the Coruscanti Galactic Senate, The Republic Fleet and the Jedi Council. All other versions of this story are unauthorized and should not be taken as fact. All footage is real. All interviews were used with the full consent of the parties involved._

_Produced by Senator Malachi D'reev_

Revan blinked. _Malak's father, I guess. _Nothing in her mind. No memory, not even a trace of one. She wondered if she'd liked him.

Karolla's narration continued.

_"Who was Revan Starfire? Like most of our Order, her origins were unimportant. She was trained from a young age at the Jedi Academy on Arkania. The masters there taught her well and she was an excellent student, the embodiment of all things the Jedi strive to achieve._

_Blurry footage, a young girl, perhaps ten years old —_eleven her mind whispered, almost mocking — _with short red hair and a freckled round face. She was sitting on a stone floor, legs crossed, wearing a plain white tunic. From off-screen voices adult voices asked her questions._

_"You are traveling in the wilderness and you come across a man who is being attacked by a group of wild beasts. He pleads for your help, and offers you a reward. What do you do?"_

_"I kill the beasts or scare them away and save him," the childish voice said. A lilting voice, that sounded nothing like what Revan thought she sounded like now. "B-but I don't need the reward," the girl added hastily. "The Jedi care not for such things." She raised her small chin a little, and grinned. One of her front teeth was crooked._

_"The same scenario," a woman's voice said sternly. "Only now, instead of wild beasts, bandits attack the man."_

_"I'd definitely scare them away somehow," the child said earnestly, eyes wide. "Killing people is bad. Every life is part of the Force." She looked upset at the question. Her pointed chin trembled._

_Cut to a smoky cantina, like any on a hundred worlds. A Durosian woman, golden skinned and voluptuous, balanced a tray of drinks with a dancer's grace and looked straight at the holocam, a weary expression in her orange eyes. She set the tray down and folded her nine-fingered hands, speaking quietly, in charmingly accented Basic._

_"I knew Revan at the Academy," she said. "I felt very close to her. There was something special about her that we all felt, even then. Myself — I — left the Academy when I was thirteen. The ways of the Order are not for everyone, and it is a hard path. Revan took it bravely. I feel honored to have known her."_

XXX

"Nothing," Revan muttered. "No memory, no name. If I met you I don't remember. I don't think I had any friends there."

"That's Jrii Vail. They brought her to Coruscant," Yuthura said. "She runs a casino there now, in the Lower City. She's famous—now."

Small words ran across the screen.

_Jrii Vail, Cantina Waitress: Revan's Childhood_

_"Some people are meant for small lives, others never have that luxury, I guess." The Durosian shrugged. "My homeworld is on the outer edges of Core space. I've been there since I left Arkania. My people worried about the Mandalorian threat. We heard stories; refugees came . . . from Cathar, from Eos, from Sssyir. We were one of the first to ask the Republic for assistance, against what we thought would be the worst threat to the Republic's peace since Exar Kun."_

_"But — before that — " the Durosian smiled " — before that, at the Academy, Revan and I were only children and we were much like any other children. Revan was from Hoth, and some of the others teased her about it. It's a backwater place, and she was surprisingly ignorant about so many things. Innocent, I always thought. None of their childish taunts seemed to touch her. She and Malak were a little older than the rest of us, and they were fast friends. He was very kind to her."_

_Choppy footage of a red-haired girl and a tall boy with curly brown hair sitting industriously at a table, surrounded by old datapads and bound books. They wore simple white training tunics. The girl's lips moved — there was no sound with this vid — and the boy's face broke out in an expression of laughter, lips curving up into a wide-open smile. An old Fosh clad in a brown knight's robe made shushing gestures at them, shaking a pinioned hand in mock sternness. The two children covered their mouths to hide their giggles._

Jrii's voice took over the narration.

_"There were thirty of us apprentices. Eventually, ten made the rank of Padawan. Malak was the first one, and we were all very happy for him. But none more so than Revan."_

_The brown-haired boy, back turned from the cameras, was standing before a workbench. His broad shoulders were hunched over, completely absorbed in his task. Rough blue crystals and smooth metal tools aligned in a neat row along the edge of the table. Finally, he turned around, his face serene but proud. He held the silver handle of his first lightsaber in one hand and activated it. The blade lit with a hiss, and a girl's voice cheered happily from off-screen. A second later, a blur of white robes and red hair and the child Revan was hugging him fiercely, arms around his waist. Her head came up to his chest, and he raised the hand holding the blade awkwardly out of her way. She seemed blissfully oblivious._

_"I knew you'd do it on the first try Mallie! I knew it! I knew it!" She let him go and jumped up and down, laughing._

_"Calm down Red," he said. "It's just a lightsaber, it's not like I saved the world or anything."_

_"We'll do that later." Child Revan grinned at him, teeth flashing. The crooked one had been straightened._

"That has to be faked," Revan snapped. "I'd never say that."

"I don't know." Yuthura spoke. Revan looked up startled from the nest of Carth's arms. She'd almost forgotten the Twi'lek was still here. "The Jedi Academies record everything about their charges. The Council—showed me some of the footage from my own training. Some of it I didn't want to see — didn't want to remember."

Revan remembered the holos she'd found, archived in that ancient computer. "Well, they aren't showing all of it," she muttered.

"Of course not," Yuthura said gently. Yuthura was scared of her; it hurt how scared she was, even though the Twi'lek hid it well. _She thinks I'm a monster._ "This is the story they wanted to tell, Revan. They — made you a hero. There are worse things."

"That's true. And me alive is one of them." Carth murmured something soothing in her ear. She leaned back against him, trying to breathe. Absently, she reached for the packet of nutra-bread on the low table beside the bed, and crunched one. It tasted awful, but it was a familiar awful taste.

_On the screen the two children, older now and dressed in Padawan beige, were fencing in a small round training room. Yellow blade met blue in a clash of sparks. Blue bent back yellow. Malak's greater height and strength gave him an obvious advantage over his smaller and younger opponent. He pressed the advantage, and the young girl twisted her hands, trying to bring the other edge of her saber up to block him. There was an intense scowl on her face — not anger —just desperate concentration. Her knees bent and shook. Malak looked serene and expressionless, forcing his advantage. Suddenly Revan sank to her knees, deactivating her blade and rolling with Cathar-like grace away from him. She raised up a hand and he fell back — pushed back by some unseen force. _

_A tiny wizened figure clad in master's brown appeared from off-screen. Master Vandar shook his head. Even with no sound, his chastisement was obvious._

_The red-haired girl got to her feet and bent her fragile neck in acquiescence, nodding quiet agreement._

_She shot a look at Malak from the corners of her eyes and he blushed and turned away._

_"Even the most gifted must learn," Jrri's voice continued, "that the Force cannot solve all things. The Jedi are taught to rely on their bodies' strengths and weaknesses first. Revan was no different than any other student in that way. Heroes are not born, they are made. And Revan's journey had only just begun._

Fade out again: the veil of stars. Vrook's voice, detached and remote, took over the narration.

_"Nine years ago we set out for Mandalore — Revan and Malak and I. I was their guide and advisor, but the real responsibilities were theirs and theirs alone."_

_"Some question the wisdom of the Order — the seeming folly of sending out two padawans on a mission of such strategic import — but the Force moves in strange ways — and at the time, the possible Mandalorian threat was only one of many. There were rumors of the Sith rising on the other side of the Rim. There was the slave rebellion on Sleyheyron, and a million oppressed people on that planet needed to be saved from the lash. There was the ecological crises on Thantos, and the pirate trade in the Degoba sector. The Order helped as we could with all of these troubles, and a hundred more. The Republic, and we of the Order who serve it have always made our quiet way through the galaxy, helping those that need us."_

_"On Mandalore, we were instructed to seek out the chieftains of the clans, and see if the would listen to reason. We landed on the capital planet of the Malachor system. The natives call it simply, Mandalore. Its Republic classification is Malachor IV."_

A small world rose, dappled green and yellow, slashed by an expanse of blue.

_"The Mandalorians are an old and proud race, one of the nine humanid races in the known worlds. Not so long ago, they were nearly crushed by the Sith threat, and even more recently they allied with the Sith to threaten the Republic. They are a warlike people, but the Republic is full of histories and cultures of warlike peoples, who have learned to live in harmony with their neighbors. The Trandoshans. The Rodians. The Gammorean . . . "_

_". . . History has shown that even the most violent species eventually reach the age of reason and enlightenment. Nine years ago, we hoped that this would be the time for Malachor. That was our mission, to bring a promise of hope into a dark place. The Malachor system has always been resource-poor. Its people were ravaged by the predations of the Sith and the Karath, and twisted by that malevolent force that winds like a dark thread through the history of all worlds."_

_"The Mandalorians were desperate and suffering. We came with trade goods, and offers of aid for their starving people. We came among them to show them the way to the light . . ."_

"Has Canderous seen this?" Revan asked.

"Oh yes," Carth said. "On the way to Manaan. I learned some new phrases. 'Ucah'alla y nik,' and 'Rysya Mandalore phar ech na' Republik infi'. Also, the vid deck in the rec room isn't reparable. I never knew a vibrosword could go through circuitry like that."

"At least I'm not the only one, breaking consoles and blowing holes in walls," Revan said. "'Ucah'alla y nik: my enemies are weak diseased man-whores. Rysya Mandalore phar ech na' Republik infi': the Republic ants will be crushed beneath His feet . . . I can understand the sentiment. For a Mandalorian, the suggestion of aid instead of conquest is . . . abhorrent. Canderous taught me that, long ago . . ." Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

_And I guess I'd learned it already. Before._

Her mind was a perfect blank. Only the edges of those memories, _walking towards the round tents, and then — some time later, that pain, that terrible ripping pain. _Was I injured? Was I captured? Vrook said I had a chance to kill the Mandalore—before the invasion. Was I injured trying?

_"Revan and Malak were promising young charges, and it was delight to counsel them. We landed on Chardon, the only spaceport on Malachor IV, in the province of the Rialis clan."_

On screen, a holostill of a dusty spaceport. Only a few ships lay in the docks. A pale yellow sun shone down from an icy blue sky. The buildings were made of yellow adobe.

_"At the time, there were five ruling Mandalorian clans: Rialis, Ordo, Lin, Wies, and Zal. In addition, there were the under-clans, too numerous to list. We landed posing as simple traders from Iridan, with a shipment of droid parts and kolto for trade. A Jedi Knight's training must teach them self-reliance, and I instructed Malak and Revan to separate. Malak, I sent north to speak to the head of clan Zal. Revan, I sent west, to speak to clan Lin. Each was equipped with a land scooter and goods we had for barter. . . "_

XXX

_Tents ahead, a tribe of nomads. Her jaw tightened, they wouldn't be friendly. _Malak and Vrook will find me, but I'll die without water long before they do . . . _She squared her shoulders and headed for the tents, trying to ignore the twisting nausea in her gut._ Perhaps I can convince them that I am harmless.

After all, that is my mission.

XXX

"I—think something went wrong," Revan said.

"Things often do," Carth muttered, his lips on her hair. He still smelled like brandy. "Do you remember?"

"No."

XXX

Another holostill. A red-haired woman, little more than a girl really — _I was twenty-three, I was so thirsty and it hurt so much _— surrounded by a group of hooded figures clad in gray and yellow loose robes. All of them had swords belted at their waists, except for Revan. Hers was clasped loosely in her hand. She was smiling at the camera, teeth white in a sunburned face, dressed identically to the others. Her hair was long, coiled in tight braids around her head and she looked like she was laughing. The other faces were indistinct shadows. The robes were loose and it was hard to tell, but some of them seemed to be women.

_Do Mandalorian women fight like the men do? I should know this, but I can't remember. Yuthura said there are holes in my mind. Places where nothing will come back. It feels like that — this emptiness. I should remember this, I should remember something, anything. Did this really happen? Is this picture, this Revan a lie, or is the lie in my memories?_

_When I was twenty-three I piloted my first load of illegal spice from Deralia to Duros. My first smuggling job and my first solo flight. I was good at it; I found the hyperspace points with no trouble at all. In Duros I got drunk and slept with some naval cadet. He had yellow hair and he gave me a necklace. It was green stones — pretty — the clasp broke and I lost it on Irid'tu'al._

_I can't fly a ship. I get sick during hyperspace. When I was twenty-three I wanted to become a Jedi Knight. I'd been training for it all my life. The Force sang to me sweeter than any mother's song._

_What did the Jedi do to me?_

"Nothing," she said out loud, her voice hollow. "I remember nothing."

"Shhh, beautiful, it's fine, it will be fine." Carth murmured. He could gentle a wild hessi with that voice. _You've never even seen one,_ her mind mocked. _They're from Deralia._

XXX

_"This is the only image from our time on Mandalore. Revan was charismatic and kind, and soon ingratiated herself with the Lin tribe. As instructed, she spoke to the clan chieftain and he seemed amenable to trade. Traditionally the Mandalorians raided worlds with the seasons. We came to them at the time of their mid-summer harvests, a time of peace. The Mandalorian year is two standard years long. We stayed with them until winter. Malak too, had great success and the three of us left Malachor IV believing our mission to be over. I promoted them both to Knighthood before we left the port. It was a simple ceremony. The Jedi Order does not believe in rank, only in the mastery of the Force."_

_"On the way home, we stopped on Eos. It was there that we learned how wrong we had been. We were there when the Basilisk war droids fell like rain from the sky. And with that savage rain they brought fire and death and destruction."_

A man's face on a scratchy two-dimensional holo transmission. Malak's face, browned from the sun. His curly hair was shaved close to his skull. Even in the scratchy recording, the expression in his eyes was horrified and bleak.

_"The Mandalore lied," he said, voice flat and controlled. _Just reporting the facts, let no emotion color them, such a good little Jedi._ "We're trapped on Eos. They've blasted the shipyards, there's no way to get off-planet. We're trapped here, and the people are dying. The war droids sliced through the planet's defense systems, took out the orbital satellites. They've landed in Harbor town. They're picking off soldiers on the streets, one-by-one. The Mandalorians shoot them down from the sky and then fight them with swords."_

_"Please!" Revan's face appeared on the screen, right under his. Her head was almost level with his shoulders. Malak's arms wrapped around her. His expression changed — serenity gone — he now looked almost defiant, or desperate. They were both dressed in ragged nondescript clothing, and Revan's hair was a tangled snarl of dust and grime. "You have to help us. We're — we've taken refuge in an orphanage. We're trying to help the Eosians as much as we can but there's only so much we can do. The Mandalorians won't kill children, but they've wiped out all the military force on this planet. They're raiding it: taking supplies, weapons, raw metals — everything they can find. This was a peaceful world, and these people are dying. The Mandalore won't stop with Eos, you have to believe me . . . believe us . . ." _Her face was so earnest and young. Both of their faces were. On the screen Revan gulped and continued speaking, words coming out in a rush._ "Our reports were wrong," she said. "They _lied_ to us. _The Mandalore_ lied to us. They don't want trade, they want conquest. They want battle — it's part of their culture. This — this death is what they do for their honor. You have to stop them. Please!"_

_"If you don't want to help us, help Malachor," Malak said, his young voice breaking. There were tears in his dark eyes. "We're trapped here. They lied to us, they lied."_

_Vrook's voice in the background. "My students speak the truth," he said quietly. "I believe the Mandalore is a threat to us all. A threat to the Republic. We'll report again in a few days, if we can. May the Force keep you."_

_"May it keep us," Revan whispered to the transmitter's blurred lens, tears streaming down her young face. "May it keep us all safe."_

The transmission ended, panning to shots of war droids falling out of the sky and burning ships. Vrook's narration began again, calm and detached amidst the carnage. The music started, soft and ponderous, building.

_"That broadcast was sent to the Jedi Council. It was then transmitted by an anonymous source in wideband across every sector of the net. Our identities were never revealed to the public. Not until now. Nonetheless, our desperate cry became a catalyst for war. Their faces, Revan and Malak's — became the call of a generation; a desperate plea from two young Republic citizens caught in the Mandalorian net. Anonymous, they began a revolution. Infamous, they would be ended by one."_

_"The Mandalorians swept Eos clean in a matter of months, leaving a defenseless shattered planet in their wake. Above our heads, the war moved on, to other worlds. Sssyrin, and Alktir suffered similar fates. We managed to get passage to the Core worlds on a refugee ship, a converted freighter sent from a benevolent mission from Deralia. We made our way back to Coruscant, amidst a tide of wretched survivors from a thousand distant shores. I myself had become convinced, just as surely as Revan and Malak, that the Republic needed to take action now. And it was I who encouraged them to seek an audience with the Council and the Senate in the great audience chamber. Malak was a Senator's son; I was a member of the Jedi Council, and the request was granted."_

_"The footage that follows is famous, but it has never before been released to the public. Revan Starfire and Malak D'Reev pleaded for the lives of the people of the Core worlds and spoke with great eloquence about the threat of the Mandalore. At the time, as we all know, their request was refused. It is hard to say now, looking back on the events that were to follow, if immediate military action would have quelled the Mandalorian threat. There is no blame, for the Senate, the Fleet or the Council, for not heeding the warnings of the young Jedi; it would serve no purpose to blame. History is a cruel mistress, and sometimes all we can do is learn from our mistakes. Like Revan did herself, at the very end . . ."_

"What a Jedi he was," Carth muttered acidly. "Malak. Worrying about the people of Malachor when your own lives were in such danger."

"I don't remember," Revan said dully. "I don't remember any of it."

He stroked her cheek. "I didn't recognize you at all. I remember, the night of the broadcast. They tried to hush it up, but that next day I signed up for another tour of duty." He sighed. "Morgana and I . . . argued about it, Dustil was so young and —"

_I still need to tell him about Dustil. What was I thinking? But I can't not in front of Yuthura, not now._

There was a knock at the door and it slid open. Vrook's face, her uncle's real face peered into the dimly-lit room. Canderous loomed behind him. The music from the vid built to an ominous crescendo, as images of ravaged worlds panned across the screen. Vrook and Canderous' faces were blue and orange behind the light, dappled with the images from the vid. Canderous frowned and stepped forward quickly to the console and stopped the recording.

He made a face and muttered something under his breath in his native tongue; glancing back at Vrook again with newly renewed dislike in his eyes.

"I'd almost forgotten," he said gruffly. "How angry I got the first time I saw that vid. _This_ is what you've been doing all this time, Revan? The Sith kid's passed out on the couch. You'd think they'd teach them to hold their liquor. Zaalbar went to bed ages ago." Canderous looked at Carth accusingly. "I thought we agreed not to show her this, not until we . . ." he stopped speaking suddenly, looking wary.

"I insisted," Revan said. "Yuthura thought I should know what happened. Or should I say, what might have happened, Uncle?" She pulled away from Carth's arms and got to her feet stiffly, staring angrily at the man who had been her uncle, her Master, and probably — if the vid was at all true — her friend.

"I would have thought you'd already seen that," Vrook said, running a tired hand over his thinning hair. "Everyone in the galaxy has seen it. That was the purpose of it."

"My friends didn't let me," she said. "Maybe they didn't want me to know that I didn't save the galaxy by defeating Malak. _That_ honor belongs to a crack team of demolitions experts. Where are they? Where's the vid about _their _lives?"

"They died, I suppose," Vrook said. His eyes were hooded and dark and his voice was pained. "But you did save us. Captain Onasi transmitted the location of the Star Forge to the fleet as soon as you found the last Star Map. You took down the disrupter fields that enabled the Republic armada to attack at all…"

"Carth saved the galaxy then," Revan said coolly. "I didn't order him to transmit those coordinates. I didn't even know until after he'd done it. I took down the disrupter fields because I needed to, because I needed to kill Malak. It was that — _simple_." She clenched her fists. "What I _don't_ know, what I still don't know, after watching hours of your patriotic drivel is — why. What happened, Uncle? _What happened to me and Malak?"_

"I—I wasn't with you when it happened." He looked away from her. "No one knows, Revan." But you know something, something you don't want me to know. What is it?

_I know, Red. I know everything._ Mocking laughter. She whirled around, reaching for a weapon that wasn't at there, trying to face a dead man that wasn't there. From the expressions on everyone's faces, no one else had heard him. They looked at her warily, startled. Canderous' hand was halfway to his blaster and Yuthura was standing up, her hand almost raised in a gesture that Revan knew only too well.

_No. No, no, no. I will not do this, I will not._

"There's something you're not telling me," she insisted, her eyes on Vrook again. Experimentally, she _pushed_ at him, moving closer. Her uncle did not move, but his face paled. His Force walls held, a solid barrier that her ragged efforts could not breech.

"It's for your own good," he said out loud. "Listen to me, Revan. If — things change, I promise, I will find you and I will tell you. Tell you all of it. But not now."

"I could make you tell me," she said, wondering if it were true.

He met her eyes squarely. "I'd die first, Revan. Kill me if you must, but you'll never find out. Not like this."

Her breath caught in her throat. All their eyes on her, all movements still. No one breathed. Her breath came out in a harsh sob and she sank to her knees. "No," she whispered. "I want to get away, just get away from all of this Carth please, please just take me away from all of this I don't want to know I'm not Revan, not anymore, I don't know what I — what I've done and I — I—" She was babbling, and sobbing. The Force pulsed around her like a warm bath, but the touch burned her skin and then Carth's arms took the burn away and he was lifting her in his arms, whispering softly.

"Shhh, beautiful, it's all right, it's fine. Shhh, baby, we'll be ok. Shhh, Polla, Shhh Revan, I love you, everything will be fine. I love you, I love you . . ." His voice trailed off and she nestled against him, warm and safe.

"I think we'll be going now," Canderous said. "All of us. Say good-bye to Revan, Jedi. Say good-bye, now. And thanks for your help. We'll call you if I need you." Under his breath he muttered in Mandalorian. "I'm gonna dump the Sith kid out on the hanger deck, he can find his own way home. When he wakes up."

"We'll take Kel with us," Vrook said in Basic. "But I agree, Canderous Ordo, it's time for us to go." Her uncle's voice was shaky. "Good-bye Revan," he said. She heard his footsteps, and Yuthura's leave the room. The door hissed shut behind them.

_Good-bye my friend,_ The Twi'lek said softly in her mind. Yuthura's thoughts were cold and oddly restrained, as if she'd stuffed them in a closet and locked the door. Their presences faded, and Revan was alone with her thoughts. Her thoughts and Carth.

He kissed her, placing her carefully on the bed as if he thought her bones would break. "It really is a mess in here," he said. "I'll clean in the morning. Do you want—do you want to be alone?"

Her hands reached out for him, caught him, and pulled him on top of her. She could feel his heart racing against her chest; smell his skin through the thin fabric of her robe. The bed creaked under their weight. "No," she said. "Please — please, please stay."

_Don't ever leave me. Promise you'll never leave me._

XXX

Some time later, they huddled together on the narrow bed. He handed her a bottle of water and she drank it greedily. Cool water down her throat, the pulse his heart beat against her ear. Simple things. _Life. _The room really did smell bad; she'd have to do something about that. _Later, later . . . and it doesn't matter. The Lady's Luck will sit here until they tow it away. We won't be on it anyways. I miss the Hawk . . . _

"So, beautiful," he whispered softly. "You said you had a plan to get us off this watery rock?"

She smiled sleepily. "Yes, a plan. There's a ship I think. We just need to get to it. Tomorrow — we'll try."

"If they let us leave," he reminded her. "I'm not sure they'll let us leave this hanger deck unless we go to one of the embassies."

"Mmmm . . . I haven't worked out that much of the plan yet," she said. "But the ship, we need to go to Coruscant. Yuthura said Dustil was there when she left. She told me a little more, when we talked tonight. I think he needs us."

_I learned more from what I saw in her mind. Two kids, no credits, Coruscanti underground. It's not good, but I can't tell him that._

_And Dustil isn't the only reason we need to go there._

_If someone's trying to kill me, I want to know who. Even if it's the whole bloody Council AND the Senate._

"Dustil . . ." She felt his body stiffen and he rolled away from her, sitting up. "No, no—" he said. "We can't, it's not safe for you. You—you want me to take you away from all this, right?"

_He would say that. But whatever answers I seek they're on Coruscant, they have to be. I — I think._

"Coruscant first," she said briskly. "Carth?"

"I'm not sure about this, Revan." His voice was quiet and he'd called her Revan. Revan not Polla.

"Do you want to take me away from all this because you love me, or because you want to keep the galaxy safe from my evil dominion?"

Her lover laughed. "When you put it like that, it sounds silly . . . but — Revan? I do —worry."

"I know." There was nothing more she could say. He was right to worry.

Carth snorted at her and made a face. "Your evil dominion. . . . I worry more that some fanatic will put a blaster beam in your eye, or poison your food. I — I worry that you'll kill us sometimes, but — no — I don't worry about you taking over the Core worlds. Whoever the Revan was that tried to do that, she's dead now, and so are her reasons." He sighed. "I just want us all to be safe."

"Me too," Revan whispered. "All of us. And Dustil."

Carth settled back down beside her. "We'll talk about it," he said. "In the morning, we'll talk about it."

"Carth?"

"Mmmm hmm? Damnit woman, let me get some sleep!"

"Is the rest of the holovid as bad as that?"

"Oh no," he muttered. "We're not watching more of it, not now."

"No — but is it?"

"It's . . . well — wait until you get to the part where everyone starts talking about how in love we were and how sad it is that we died. It's a bit . . . overdone."

"They talk about that? About us?" Revan frowned.

"Um, our sad tragic fate — yes."

"Let's keep the fate, and lose the tragic and sad," she whispered sleepily, almost to herself.

_XXX_

_Carth Onasi_

He couldn't sleep, so he watched her and took a few stims. She was dreaming again, muttering something in a language he didn't know. She did that a lot — she always had, ever since Taris. It didn't bother him anymore, it was just another thing about her. Like her arched eyebrows or the smell of her skin.

When the commlink beeped softly a few hours later — by his chronometer it was just before dawn, local time — she'd finally settled into a deep slumber. He got up carefully from the bed and went to the other side of the room to take the call, wondering if Canderous had had trouble getting rid of Kel and the Jedi after all.

The call wasn't what he expected, but he had to go. He had no choice.

"I'll be right back Polla," he said in a whisper. She murmured in her sleep, twitched a long leg across the covers, as if reaching for him. She was still so thin, but as always, she was so beautiful.

"I'll be right back, right back." His words felt like an apology. She'll sleep for a few more hours, she won't even know you left.

He ran out of the room and off the ship. The escort was waiting for him right outside.

XXX


	7. A Game of Chess

**Disclaimer: **These characters and their world are the property of LucasArts and Bioware. I just wrote about them.

Ether: sobs, I like Yuthura now too. She's only a shadow in this chapter, but she has to be back, I figure at some point. I feel bad about leaving her where I did already. Then again, I question her motives a bit. Then again, perhaps she does too.

Thylja: the complexity is about to get a lot worse. It may be my undoing. On the bright side, there's more re: Revan and Malak.

Tim: Your own story is amazing, thanks. It means a lot. A lot a lot.

Moonstar: Mission will be back, at least as a ghost. Corny as that plot device is (bringing back ghosts), it's the one thing about KOTR ds that is the hardest to deal with—the killing her. I miss her too.

Prisoner: Dustil's a bit in this chapter, sort of. More Dustil and Mekel are inc. In real time even.

Daenea: I think, maybe we all walk around going, I'm Darth Revan, Dark Lord of the Sith. Or um, maybe that's just me. Um. I mean in the game. Yeah, that's it. Anyway, I originally wrote the latter part of this chapter to follow directly after the trial. Revised it, because that didn't make enough sense.

This pretty much brings us up to the point where I've stopped writing and now need to sit down and a.) write more, and b.) edit my various spellings and punctuation irregularities. So the pace of posting should slow a bit. This chapter is long and there's a lot that happens, sort of. On the bright side, it sets up for a whole host of opportunities.

The latter half of this chapter is also not so much with the strum and drang (sp). Hopefully it's not a character break. Dark is good. I love dark. But dark without funny is like Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever. Or something.

And I may steal more T.S. Eliot.

And gods, I wish I had a timeline of the Mandalorian wars.

* * *

Chapter 7 / The Hyacinth Girl 

_...I'll be at the Republic Embassy, Father—waiting for you... _Dustil's voice cracked.

It was raining and his hair was flattened in dark strands around his face, a call from a public holovid, prerecorded and sent. There was a trace of a man's beard on his cheeks. Carth hadn't noticed that on Korriban. _Maybe he had time to shave then, maybe it's new. Hell, it's been eight months since you saw him. Kids change._

The transmission faded out and Carth didn't think any more, he just ran.

"I'll be right back, right back." His words felt like an apology. _She'll sleep for a few more hours, she won't even know you left. You'll come back with Dustil, she'll be so happy._

Outside the hanger, a small escort of Republic soldiers waited for him. Four of them. One of them coughed slightly, and Carth realized, although he'd thrown on his battered jacket he'd forgotten to put on a shirt. _At least I remembered pants and shoes. Where is he, where's Dustil?_

"You're to come with us," one of them said.

None of them called him by name, but that didn't seem unusual. _Maybe they don't know._

He buckled his jacket as they walked. They passed through Ahto Central and the night sky was clear and bright, a clear night, on the edge of Manaan winter. A backdrop of stars and the sound of the waves brushing softly against the platform. Almost no one was out this late. A faint cusp of dawn in the sky.

_I hope he's ok; he looked so thin and frightened._

What had Yuthura said? He'd been so drunk, babbling to her about Morgana and Dustil and his life—and all the while he'd never asked her where his son was _now_. Revan had asked, and Revan had found out. And now she wanted to go there, that crazy woman wanted to go charging off to Coruscant and rescue his son.

_Thank god we don't have to, since he's here. Why didn't Yuthura know he was here? Or Vrook? Maybe he's scared. Scared of the Jedi and the Sith. Maybe he's in trouble, he looked like he was in trouble._

The night guard at the Republic Embassy desk didn't even blink, just waved them through.

It was warm inside after the brisk night air. The soldiers led him down a hall past the submersible docks to a green door. The door was closed. Carth pulled it open eagerly. The man inside looked up from a desk and smiled at him politely.

Carth froze.

_Wait._

_Dustil's hair was wet. It was raining. But it's not raining. Not now. He's—not here._

_That means...this is..._

_A trap?_

Roland Wann looked up at him, his dark skin glowing faintly blue from the light of his console. "Captain Onasi," he said. "Welcome. Please sit down." Wann stood up for a moment and gestured to a simple chair on the side of the room. Carth ignored it.

"Where the hell is my son?" he asked. His hands went to his belt automatically. He wasn't wearing one. No belt, no weapons, and no son. Revan would kill him. Or kill someone. _Remember you were happy you remembered your pants? Great._

He'd never like Wann, never trusted him. The man was the worst kind of bureaucrat: officious, sniveling, and devious. He remembered the groveling tone in the man's voice when he'd begged Revan to spare Sunry, to lie to the Selkath judges about the kolto factory. Well, she had lied about that—at first. Then she'd gotten impatient and told the truth. She'd managed to tarnish the reputations of both the Republic and the Sith. Carth supposed Wann had caught flack for that. This man had no reason to like Revan—or him.

Wann shrugged. "Dustil's on Coruscant," he said pleasantly. "Or so I was told. He sent the transmission from there. I knew if I just told you that, you'd do something rash. Or—_she­ would._" His face twisted with revulsion. "You were a war hero," the Ambassador said angrily. "Why would you throw it all away to serve someone like that? I hear you always said you were different than Saul Karath."

Carth reminded himself quietly that he was unarmed, and that trying to throttle the Republic Ambassador wouldn't help Revan—or any of them—get off this damn planet. He took a deep breath. "That's none of your concern," he said.

The Ambassador sighed. "Well listen to the rest of the transmission, it's why I brought you here. If you want to see Dustil, we'll arrange it. The Republic owes you that. We've got a diplomatic cruiser ready to go. Class 920. Fastest ships in the fleet. You could be there in a week."

Carth tried to keep his voice steady. "You'd let us all go?"

Wann laughed. "You..._all_? Surely you're joking. The offer's for you Captain, only you. Listen to the holo. Your son needs you, it's very touching."

Carth gritted his teeth and sat down slowly. "Play it."

The time stamp shone clearly on the right hand corner of the small particle screen. It was dated four hours earlier.

_Father? _Dustil's voice cracked. _I'll be at the Republic Embassy waiting for you. On Coruscant. I—came here after Korriban. I was afraid you were dead, but now I'm not sure. I keep thinking, maybe you got off the Star Forge, maybe you're ok. I don't know what I'll do if you're dead...we're here...it's so strange here, and everyone keeps talking about you being a hero. I—I'm proud of you Father, I hope you're not dead..._

Dustil glanced over his shoulder nervously.

_I'll go the Embassy every day if you want to send word. And I'll wait there--wait until you come for me. I don't want to lose you again. I—I have to go now. I hope this message finds you...._

The transmission faded out.

"How did you find me? How did he?" Carth asked, suspiciously, choking down the lump in his throat. Dustil looked so alone and frightened. _Why is he frightened, what's happened to him?_

"How did I find you?" Wann coughed. "I was—uh, informed of your miraculous resurrection yesterday afternoon. And then I watched the court transcripts. You were unmistakable, but _she _looks bad. If you hadn't been with her, I don't know if I would have believed my eyes. As for your son, I suppose he found you the same way my sources did. Through _her. _Through the Force. The Jedi here on Manaan are practically up in arms. You should feel lucky that the Selkath have such strict restrictions about deadly force. But I wouldn't expect that luck to hold much longer. And god help you when the rest of the Selkath figure it out." He chuckled. "If I were you Onasi, I'd get on that ship. Your sith lover's as good as dead." The man laughed. "Then again, she looks half-dead anyway. It's hard to understand why a man like you would throw everything away...for that."

Carth got up from the chair slowly. "I'm leaving, Wann. Thanks for the message. Good-bye."

Roland Wann sighed and shook his head. "I'd hoped you'd just go, Onasi," he said. "It offends me to do this to someone who's served the Republic so well." He picked up a small cylindrical object from his desk

Carth whirled and lunged straight at him—_throttling him isn't such a bad idea after all perhaps—I—was so fracking stupid—_

The energy bolt caught him squarely in the chest. As his breath choked and caught in his throat, Carth felt a moment's relief when he realized the blast was only a stun. _I'll be right back Polla, right back, don't kill anyone—_was his last thought before the blackness took him.

* * *

The chair he sat in was like a burnished throne. It glowed on the marble floor with a faint fluorescent hum. The table in front of him was covered with ancient tomes and artifacts. On the only tidy corner of the great desk sat a small and expensive console, its black surface lacquered with rich patterns cut in an inlay of red and green stone. 

The news of Revan Starfire's death had been expected, and when it came—although not in the manner he had arranged—he'd gone ahead with the rest of his plan. Dead, Revan was convenient. Her tale, written into the annals of history as the redeemed, but tragically lost, Jedi could only serve to support his own plans. Plans for the future. He was an old man, but a powerful one, and his family had risen far--always arranging the road ahead for the next generation. Dead, Revan served him far better than his own son ever could. His son had been such a disappointment in the end. The old man would not make _those_ mistakes again.

But Revan alive....Frowning, the old man made a steeple of his fingers and spoke softly to the console.

The transmission flickered in front of him again and he smiled. His editors had done an excellent job with the eight-month old tape. The time stamp was perfect. It didn't matter that he didn't have the boy...he had the man now—and so she would come. She would come, of that he was certain. Even a mindwipe couldn't entirely erase certain personality traits. She had always been such a romantic fool. When she came, came on _his_ terms, it would be easy to trap her, trap her and finish this.

The boy's voice crackled again, and he watched the unedited version, a pleased smile on his craggy face.

_...I'll go the Embassy every day if you want to send word. And I'll wait there--wait until you come for me. I don't want to lose you again. I—I have to go now. I hope this message finds you on Yavin Station. Mission told me about Yavin when we were on Korriban and if you're still alive you'll go there, I think. Come back to me Father, please. I—I've got to go now...Kel's acting really strange, he has ever since, ever since we felt her fall. I'm worried about him Father, worried about all of us. The Council wants us to speak to the reporters. I refused...but sometimes I think they're following me..._

The boy glanced warily over his shoulder again.

_Please come, Father. Please. I h-hope you're not dead._

The boy had been right, he was being followed. The transmission had been intercepted and sold. It never made it into the official holovid—there were legal restrictions about consent and Dustil had proven to be remarkably elusive—but in the end this had proved for the best. All in all a remarkable stroke of luck. Idly, the old man wondered what was on Yavin, and why the boy thought the _Hawk _would go there. He'd have to look into it. The message had never reached its destination, of course, caught instead by the greedy reporter's blind feed.

He whispered another command to the console.

The image changed to the Manaan courtroom footage. His agents had informed him of the news an hour after the trial, and he'd had the transcript in his hands an hour after that. She was changed, much changed, thin and haggard with only a trace of the beauty he remembered in her Sith-marked face. But it was her--there was no question. You didn't need a thing like the Force to tell, not if you knew her, knew her as he had. He'd known her for most of her life. He'd had little choice about knowing her, after all.

_I was far too indulgent. I won't make the same mistakes again._

He wondered how she'd manage to leave Manaan. If he gave her any easy options, she might become suspicious. He hoped she'd make a mess of it--it was too much to hope that she'd fail entirely—but a mess would prove very useful later. _I made you a hero. I can unmake you just as easily. _He thought he'd covered every trace that he could, but there were always uncertainties. Her fool uncle for one, although the velvet-gloved threat to expose the Council's lies in the redemption story was a crude, yet effective tool. He thought it would serve at least for now. He'd given her no easy options, but in the games he'd played since childhood he'd learned to always expect the unexpected. The old man smiled. She'd find a way. Hopefully an extremely messy way. _Darth Revan reborn._ And when she did, he'd finish this once and for all.

He was looking forward to talking to Captain Onasi.

Footsteps shuffled on the stair and there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," the old man said.

The servomech droid shuffled in, red lights gleaming like the coals of its eyes. She'd made for him a few years ago. "Master? He's awake again. Awake and crying."

The old man shrugged. "Let him cry," he ordered. "It won't kill him. Is there anything else?" The droid clucked softly, its internal processors checking the nets, and the old man's own private transmission feeds. "Captain Onasi is en route," it said. "The ship left Manaan thirteen minutes ago, local time. Estimated time of arrival is ten Coruscanti days, four hours."

The old man smiled. "Good," he said simply. "Pour me a glass of brandy and leave me, HK."

"As you wish."

* * *

"Carth?" 

"Hmm? Red, let me sleep."

Strong arms curled around her, and he crushed her close to his broad chest. She could hear her heartbeat, safe and warm, and relaxed against the silken feel of his skin. "Don't leave me," she whispered.

"I won't leave you, Red, not ever."

"Good," she smiled sleeping and buried her face in his skin. He smelled like spice and space oil. And something scorched and seared. Something like skin and bone. Her hand reached up and traced the metal edge of his jaw.

"What's wrong Revvie? You've gone all cold." Malak looked down at her, concern in his dark gray eyes. A lock of curling brown hair fell over his face.

Revan closed her eyes and willed herself to wake up. "You're not really here," she said, shivering. "This is a dream, I'm sleeping. You're not here."

He chuckled softly. "Wake up then, Red. Leave me again. You always do."

She tried. She willed her body to get up, her eyes to open, all of this to go away. But nothing changed.

"This was our room," he said softly. "You don't remember things Revan, but I do, I remember it all."

In the dream her eyes opened. Her hair was long and loose and soft on her shoulders. Malak sat there lazily. The metal jaw was gone and there was a half-smile on his wide mouth, a brown knight's robe belted carelessly around his waist. The robe revealed more than it concealed and she looked away fast. They were on a white bed, it was round and the sheets were rumpled. She looked down at herself. Smooth unmarked skin. Her own robe lay rumpled on the floor. She dove for it hastily and tied it tightly around herself, looking around frantically for her pants. _Or a weapon._

"This was our room," he said again, voice almost dreamy. "On Coruscant. There's a balcony. You always liked the balcony. We practiced the speech we gave to the Senate on it. Do you want to see?"

"No," Revan said. "I-I want you to go away now."

"Then wake up." His voice was taunting.

"I can't."

"You could, if you wanted to. What is it you want to ask me, Red?"

Revan looked around the room. The walls were lined with white eridu silk and there was almost no furniture. _Nothing to throw at him, except a pillow. _Everything was a blinding snowy white. _This is a dream, he can't hurt you. _The carpet under her bare feet was thick and soft. The air smelled like flowers and spice. She took a deep breath.

"What happened to us?"

"We fought." Malak shrugged and got up from the bed. He threw open the curtains and stared out of the window. The morning light etched his heavy features in silver. "You shouldn't worry about that now, it's not the right question."

Revan bit her lip. "What is the right question, Malak?"

"Why do you think my father would make a vid making you out to be the hero of the galaxy, Revan? You killed me, after all. Don't you think he might be upset about that?"

"I don't remember your father," she said. "Perhaps he didn't like you. Many people aren't fond of the sith. I've noticed this."

Malak laughed. "I was his _heir._ Heir to all his fortunes and his Senate seat. Coruscanti inheritance laws are strange. Had he died, they'd have had to accept me."

"I expect they'd just have had you killed." She remembered HK's gruesome story. Assassination was a popular game among the Coruscanti elite.

"Yes, if they could...but only you could kill me, my heart. You were the only one I ever let close enough."

"I-I-I'm sorry I don't remember it Malak." She was in the corner of the room now, with her back to the wall, looking for a door. There didn't seem to be one. She eyed the window. It wasn't a window, it was a balcony. Great glass doors that swung open. Malak had gone through them. Trepidation in her throat, she followed.

Coruscant spun beneath them, a whirl of speeders and lights and smaller, lesser buildings. They were in the clouds, so high above the ground that it made her dizzy to look down. Lights twinkled like a million tiny smiles. The wind whipped her hair back and tugged at her robe. Dawn was breaking, a muted white sun shining through endless cloudbanks. Above them, orbitals glided lazily through the clouds like great silver whales. Across from them loomed a large gleaming edifice made of blue and gold and yellow metal and glass. Looking across she realized they were in one of many towers—but this one was the highest.

"I never liked you in brown," Malak said softly. "Black and red were your colors. Call me Mal—on Malachor you called me Mal." He smiled, as if he'd said something clever, but Revan didn't understand the joke.

"Why did you fire on my ship?" She asked him, accusingly.

"You remember that Red? Of all your memories of us, that would be the one I'd rather forget."

"I remember what I felt," she whispered. _Pain, anger—a rage so sweet that it burned like brandy in the back of her throat. Coughing, coughing blood. Blood in her nose and her mouth, filling her mask and then cold air on her face and large blue eyes, young eyes, wide eyes, looking into hers with an expression of fear—and terrible fascination. Something enveloped her like a blanket, or like chains. She tried to slip away into darkness—Malachor—Mal—I'm—I'm..._

"I fired on your ship because I couldn't kill you in any other way," Malak's voice was polite, almost deferential. "You were the one that taught me that sometimes an honorable fight isn't the path to victory. Remember Mandalore?"

"No. Damnit Mal—just tell me! What happened to us?"

"Why are you so concerned—afraid of making the same mistakes again?" His teeth flashed in a cold smile.

Revan looked down at her hands. "Yes," she muttered.

"I wouldn't worry about it Red, flyboy's gone."

"Gone?" Revan panicked. "What do you mean gone? What did you do to him?" She raised her hand and clenched her fist, noticing for the first time that there was no whisper in her mind here, no rush of power. No Force. She rushed him blindly, kicking and slashing with her hands. He ignored the blows and caught her around her waist. She twisted, trying to throw him as she'd been taught but her body felt strangely heavy and unbalanced, and he was stronger, much stronger.

"Stop it," Malak said. He held her so tightly that she became uncomfortably aware again that his robe wasn't really covering anything at all. Her head butted ineffectually against his smooth chest and he'd pinned her legs first, preventing the obvious. "I didn't hurt him. I can't—I'm dead. Besides, I sort of liked seeing you happy."

"Where is he?" Revan stopped fighting him for a moment, hoping he'd relax his grip. He didn't.

"I think _They_ took him. I think he's bait. That's what I would have done..."

"Who?" She hissed. "Who Mal, _who took him?"_

He buried his face in her hair. "Men," he whispered. "Men that work for my father. My father won't be pleased that you've returned, Revan. You're a threat to him in ways you can't even imagine."

She forced herself to go limp in his arms. _He's got to relax his grip eventually, give me an opening..._ "Why? Because I killed you?"

He chuckled and carried her off of the balcony, back into the bedroom. He dumped her unceremoniously on the bed and turned away, adjusting his robe. When he turned back to her it was his dark sith face that stared into hers. Metal jaw, dark designs gleaming like oil on his bare skull. Eyes like black pits, lined with yellow.

"No," he said finally. His plain brown robe shifted, and now he wore red armor again, and a long black cape. He looked just as he had when she'd killed him. Revan's breath caught short and sounded high and hollow in her ears. Her vision narrowed imperceptibly and she realized a mask covered her own face. She looked down to find herself dressed in Darth Revan's robes. Her gloved hand reached up to her face and touched hard metal.

"My father found us useful like this—at first," Malak said. "But you and he had many disagreements." He sighed. The sound echoed strangely through the metal plate that covered his jaw. _He has no jaw, not anymore it rotted away--at first it was just a little injury. A little cut that never healed. That you couldn't heal...not anymore._

_This price isn't so high, she'd thought, coolly amused, staring at the hanks of red brittle hair that fell out in her hands. Gray walls around her and the whining overdrive of the ships engines as they shot into hyperspace. Bile in her throat and she retched, as she always did when they made the jump._

_Some things never change, do they? Other things, others things change a lot._

"They'll take your lover to Coruscant of course. All things are on Coruscant, but some part of you...some part of you already knew that, didn't you Revvie?"

"Yes." Her voice hissed through her mask and she felt a sad sense of inevitability.

Malak looked at her again. "I'd hoped you'd let me sleep, just hold you, pretend things were as they once were.... But you were never content, always reaching, always climbing. This is the me you want, Red, isn't it?" Red light hissed in his hand, and his lightsaber sprang to life, red light reflecting dully in the white white room.

Revan rolled off the bed, and ducked, her legs were half-caught in her heavy robes, and her own saber's hilt was cold in her hand. She crouched, activated it, hissing. The double blade was yellow, and she held it ready and unwavering in her hands.

"Hate is so easy, isn't it?" He circled her, moving quick for all his bulk, looking for an opening.

She spat at him, breath sharp through her mask and tried to counter. Her feet stumbled, caught in the soft carpet, and her robes were heavy and awkward and she slipped, almost falling on her own blade. Hiss of air and his blade was so close to her face that she could feel the cold charge of it through the metal. The world disappeared into a red, humming light. The mask was clumsy on her face. She stabbed out blindly, twisting her blades and heard his curse of pain.

He grunted. Then he laughed. The red light vanished and she sat up, deactivating her saber and pushing the mask from her face. Malak was on his knees, kneeling on the rug, a great burn cut deep in his side. "It's not too late," he whispered, almost theatrically. "You were always stronger than I was. I thought what the Jedi did to you would make you weak, but you are stronger, stronger than you ever were when you were the Dark Lord."

"Shut up," Revan whispered. There were tears on her cheeks. Her vision blurred with them.

Somewhere a child's piping voice sang.

_The Jedi are wise and good but they wear ugly hoods._

_The Sith are ugly and mean, but their amour gleams._

_When I grow up I want to be,_

_The Ruler of the Galaxy._

"You'll go to Coruscant. It's a trap, but you'll go anyway. You always did try and rescue people. It's a shame you weren't better at it." Malak stood up, the burn in his side was gone, his armor smooth and gleaming again. "I need to go," he said, almost casually. "I'll see you later, Red."

"Go?" Revan said incredulously. "You need to _go?_ Isn't this my dream? What do you mean you need to go?"

Malak chuckled hollowly through the metal plate. "You should talk to that Cathar some time. She's right about you. Funny, out of all of them, I think she understood you the best, knew you for what you really _are_." He considered, raising his hand to his silver chin in a mock gesture of deep thought. "Then again, she's almost as crazy as you...." He bowed, sweeping his hands and swirling his cape and walked to the wall. A door slid open and he walked out of it. It slid shut behind him seamlessly, leaving no trace of where it had been.

Revan darted after him, but she was too late. Her fists beat helplessly on the soft white walls for a very long time. Eventually, she sank to the floor in a nest of black and red cloth and stared at the cool white room that she didn't remember.

"I'll find you Carth," she whispered softly. "As soon as I wake up."

* * *

"Captain Onasi, this _is_ an honor." 

Carth opened his eyes. Cold metal bit into his wrists and ankles. He was strapped to a cold metal platform. Gray corusteel ceiling, the hum of hyperdrive. _A ship. Wann said Coruscant. Damnit. Damnit to hell. What will Revan do when I don't come back? What will they all do? What will they think? Damnit. Damnit, why?_

The face staring back at him was the face of a career Republic soldier—sergeant stripes on her shoulder, cropped dark hair stippled with gray, leathery skin burned under unfamiliar suns. Her long nose sniffed a little disdainfully, despite her polite words. He'd never seen her before.

"You have me at a disadvantage," he said slowly. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. Whatever type of stunner Wann had used it had left him feeling heavy and slow.

The sergeant laughed. "I'd hope so, Captain. But we've heard so much about your accomplishments we had to make sure. Sorry about the restraints." She grinned.

"We're—bound for Coruscant. Wann said...you're taking me to Coruscant...why—he didn't say why. Am I—under arrest?"

The woman snorted. "Arrest? You? Oh no, not at all. You're a hero, Captain Onasi." She frowned a little and her blue eyes were serious. "You're confused," she said, almost gently. "That _woman_...played with your mind. I'm here to help you get well."

"Y-you've made a mistake," Carth stammered. "She's not—she's not—" Inwardly he groaned. There was nothing he could say. Whatever this was, it was bigger than him. He felt like a fish trapped in a net. Desperately he tried anyway. "Revan's redeemed," he said. "Ask Yuthura Ban, ask Master Vrook. She's not a sith anymore, she saved us, she saved us all."

A cold press of hypo in his arm.

"It's terrible, what she's done to you, Captain Onasi." The woman's voice was painfully earnest. "But don't worry, you're going to get better now, all better."

Whatever the drug was, it was working, working fast. Too fast. He felt himself sinking under it. The sergeant shone a bright light in his eyes. It reflected off her long nose and her white teeth.

"Now," she said brightly. "I'm going to ask you a few questions. Don't be frightened, it's just a debriefing. You'll be fine, Captain Onasi, you'll be just fine."

_I'll be right back Polla, right back, he promised her._

* * *

Zaalbar looked apprehensively at the sleeping figure on the bed. She was such a small thing and yet she had done so much harm. He and Canderous had flipped a coin for this assignment—dark humor—but that was the only kind they had left. Carth was gone. Just gone. And one of them had to tell her. The ship's readouts indicated he'd left seven hours ago. He'd never left Polla's side for that long before, not even on Kashyyk. The fact that this was Manaan, and technically, the man shouldn't have even been allowed to leave the hanger, made it not bode well. Either Carth was dead, in trouble, or just not coming back. And someone had to tell her. They'd thought about just sending HK to do it; but they weren't completely sure about handing Revan back the keys to her personal killing machine. Not yet. Not until they knew what she'd do. 

Asleep, she looked barely older than Mission, burrowed under the sheets like a treesloth covered by branches. Wookiees age slowly, and to Zaalbar the shorter-lived races all seemed very young until suddenly they were very old. He'd thought of her like another Mission Vao, like another daughter. He wondered if she'd ever noticed. Probably not. She had certain blind spots about things. It couldn't be easy to be her. Greatness was never easy. It drove many to madness. He'd been there himself.

Poor Mission. The ghost in the machine was a kindness and a curse--her and not her. But it was a comfort all the same. Mission-ghost was searching the nets even now and sending back reports. They carefully coded all of their transmissions in an archaic version of Shryywook that most infidel races never knew about. Even Polla-Revan didn't know that language, it had been dead for hundreds of years. No news of Carth. News of Revan's rebirth--only whispers on the wind. But the whispers would grow, he knew they would. They'd burn like fire through dead wood. They had to get lost again, the three—four counting HK—of them and fast.

"Polla Organa," He shook her small shoulder carefully. _Wake her up slowly, and maybe she won't bite you._

"Zaalbar," she murmured. Her eyes blinked open, yellow as an owl's. "Hangar 56," she said in Basic, sitting up quickly. Zaalbar backed away, ready to run. He had a stun grenade in the pouch in his belt, just in case they had to drug her again. She sat up, bare skin mottled and unpleasantly hairless. She frowned at him and then looked down at herself. "Oh," she said, and leaned over and picked up a robe from the floor wrapping it tightly. "Hangar 56." She repeated in clipped Shryywook. "They have Carth. Coruscant. We're going, Hangar 56. There's a ship. It might be a trap. Will they let you leave do you think? Diplomatic immunity or something and check it out? We have to leave, as soon as possible. Take guns, and mines and grenades, lots of them." She stood up, still muttering to herself in soft growls.

He watched in amazement, as she pulled a packing crate out from under the bed, still talking to herself in his language. "I swore I'd never use a saber again, but hell, I can't fight well as it is now, I need the advantage. Where is it, where's my saber? Thermals. Good. Permacrete---nice. Plasma...ok, it will work--now where the hell did I put that belt..." She bent farther under the bed searching. "Zaalbar where the hell is my saber? Where did you all hide it? I can _make _you tell me, but it would be more polite if you just handed it over now. Get Cand and HK. We'll have our war council in here while I use the fresher. And get me something to eat, I'm starving. God knows when we'll get the chance again, better pack something too, might be no supplies on that ship..."

"How do you know—about Carth? Did he say something to you?" This wasn't how Zaalbar had imagined this conversation at all. It was good to see her so active, she almost looked like the old Polla now, strapping grenades around the belt on her shoulder—but her reaction still unsettled him.

"Malak told me," she said flatly. "In a dream. We don't have much time. Get the others. Now. And get my damn lightsaber. I know you've stashed it somewhere. You fracking well tried to make me carry it when we first landed on this awful planet."

"I follow you, Polla Organa." Zaalbar said formally, and ran off to get the others. As he ran, he spoke softly to his communicator. He suspected they'd need the Mission-ghost's help for this one, however things turned out.

* * *

_Docking Bay 56. What would be there? An escape...or a trap?_

Getting Kel Algwinn back from the Jedi had worried her, but it proved to be the easiest thing in the world. They hadn't let Zaalbar leave the hangar. No matter. They wouldn't let any of them leave without either a republic or a sith escort. And the apologetic and slimily polite Selkath that gurgled this information at her looked almost frightened when he said it.

_Not much time left with the fish. I need to get out of here before the Selkath catch on. They've got the whole city laid with stasis beams-- it's not like even I can fight unconscious and frozen. Force knows--I've tried before. I hate Manaan._

"I need to see Kel Algwinn," she told the orange-gilled fish again. "He left my ship with some Jedi last night. Perhaps he's in their compound now. Please find him for me, and tell me I accept his offer."

_Hopefully Vrook hasn't transformed him overnight. I need him. I need someone when I go to the Sith to back my claim if I don't want to have to carve it in blood._

_Hanger 56. Oh Carth, please be all right. Please._

Revan chewed on her nails and waited. They were all sitting on the docking ramp of the Lucky Lady, looking like nothing more than a pack of refugees from some war-torn world, all of their possessions strapped to their backs. Frowning, she considered that again. _Not a good impression._

She tapped the communicator and the Selkath's face swam on the viewscreen. "Also, I need a luggage transportor. Please." She smiled nicely at him. "Of course, citizen," the Selkath agreed. A few minutes later, the white metal platform glided into the hangar. She swung the heavy pack off her back and nodded at the others.

"I guess I don't need to tell you, pack the non-essentials on here." She stuffed the vibroblades she'd worn on her back into her pack, pausing as her hand touched the hilt of the most elaborate one.

"Zaal—" Revan said softly. "Do you—do you want this back?"

The wookiee came over to her. He bent down a little so they were eye to eye. Revan pushed back her mask and just looked at him, blinking a little to stop her eyes from blurring.

"Bacca's blade," Zaalbar said. "Yes Polla Organa. It—still feels right in my hand, no matter what it has done in the past."

She nodded at him, throat tight, and handed him the sword.

He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder with a great soft paw. "We are both no longer madclaw," he groaned gently. "What is done is done."

Revan was crying now, oh hell. She hugged him and they stood there for a moment. "You need a good grooming," she murmured, voice muffled by his thick fur. "If we get off this damn planet, I'll give you one, we'll have time, on the ship."

He laughed, that wookiee laugh she hadn't heard since...since forever. Since before. Only Mission ever made him laugh before. "My skin itches," he admitted. "It would be a good idea."

"Well," said a young male voice. "I don't think they've made a vid yet about this. I can the potential though."

Kel Algwinn stood there, Yuthura at his side.

Revan wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe hastily, measuring them both. _Why is Yuthura here?_ She forced her face into a bright smile. "Both of you then, good. Are you accompanying us back to the Sith Embassy Yuthura? How did Kel convince you?"

"Old ways die hard," the Twi'lek said, staring at her. Whatever her thoughts were they were locked behind an impenetrable wall. Her eyes were round and blank as lilac coins.

Revan pulled the mask back down over her face. Easier to do this with it. The mask was an old one, taken from Uthar's locker. Not like her old mask at all, but it had the same effect. It was blue and embroidered with ancient sith runes. Yuthura's eyes narrowed a bit, as if she recognized it. _She probably does._

Canderous coughed from behind her. "We should go," he said. "If it pleases you Lord Revan."

"I put a sleeping draught in the old man's tea," Yuthura said. "But the other Jedi may begin wondering why the Selkath sent a message to the Republic Embassy for a sith citizen. We should go, yes."

Revan considered her friend again, a little concerned. She could sense no darkness in the woman, but she couldn't sense light either. _How does she mask herself like that? I wish I knew that trick. And...Is she still on my side or not?_

_I hurt her last night. She tried to help me and I hurt her badly. Badly enough to drive her back to the Sith? Badly enough to make her betray me to the Jedi?_

"The Twi'lek smells nervous," Zaalbar growled in her ear.

"The Twi'lek is nervous," Yuthura shot back in perfect Shryywook. "There were wookiee slaves on Sleyhhorn, I speak your tongue."

Revan eyed her; the admission didn't make her any more sure. "Why are you really here, friend?" she asked in Twi'lek. _Kel doesn't speak it, I remember at the academy how they used to talk about him right in front of him. Laugh at him for being so weak._

"The Jedi sent me," Yuthura Ban said. "They want to know what you're going to do. I'm...an observer. Vrook knows nothing--they really did drug his tea. You're in greater danger than you know, my friend."

"I know you're talking about me," Kel said angrily. "If you question my loyalty Lord Revan, just give me a chance to prove it."

"Oh I will..." Revan said. "Let's go."

_Get this over with._

* * *

"Master?" 

HK shuffled politely at her side. These corridors were endless.

"Yes, HK?"

"My restraining bolt is still in place. Recommendation: remove it. I cannot protect you if I cannot kill."

"You can still stun, if anything needs to be dead, I'd prefer to do it myself."

"Commendable bloodlust for an organic, Master—but somewhat impractical. Should you meatbags become incapacitated, I alone may be able to defend you."

_He has a point._

Revan sighed and motioned the party to a halt. Around them people were whispering and pointing. A Dark Jedi, a Mandalorian, and a Revan pretender were a common enough sight—but Yuthura at their heels dressed in the Order's brown made some give pause. Not to mention the wookiee and the very realistic version of HK-47. None of the other pretenders had an HK. _There's only the one HK,_ she thought, almost fondly. Revan could hear the echoes and whispers of their thoughts. A few seemed aware that something had _shifted_ here on Manaan, but no one seemed to know what, or what it meant.

Quickly as she could she opened the droid's chestplate and tapped a few commands. Was it her imagination, or did his round metal eyes glow a brighter red now? She shivered, and checked the settings on his rifle. He maintained it himself of course; and, as always, it was immaculately ready. "Take these," she muttered, and slipped the grenade belt off her shoulders and around his chest.

"Happily master. Thank you so much for understanding. I feel much better now."

"That's good," she murmured. "Please use prudence, HK."

"Have I ever failed you Master?"

"Not that I remember, no...but I did lose you...somewhere on Mandalore..." Revan waved her hand again and they all started walking. _And when, when was that? When I came back and killed the Mandalore? HK's design looks almost Rakatan. But I killed the Mandalore before Malak and I discovered the Star Forge...didn't I?_

Canderous was thoughtfully quiet. He twirled the sword they'd taken from a dead sith ghost deftly in his hands. She tried not to eye it enviously. Her saber swung at her belt but she liked that sword. Liked it more than she wanted to admit.

The Force whispered to her like a siren's call. Tales of spacers, lost for months, looking for the lovely alluring songs that they heard in their minds. Driven to madness. _No. Not again. Not me._

_Are you so sure about that? You're going to Coruscant because your dead lover told you to in a dream._

_Carth's there-or will be. It's the only way to get him back._

_It's a big place._

_I'll find him, I have to find him. I have to. _Revan clenched her fists and bit her lip under the mask. Thinking about Carth now was not good. She wouldn't. She couldn't afford to.

Attack droids guarded the embassy entrance, and a bored looking blonde woman standing at a desk.

"Hello Kel," she said. "What, no Malak hologram for you any more? I never thought you'd throw your lot in with one of the _other_ pretenders."

"There will be no more pretenders," Kel sneered.

Revan lifted her mask and stared the woman down. The woman smirked. "The tattoos are a nice touch," she said. "But you don't look anything like her." The blonde woman sighed. "But, whoever you are, 'Citizen Numu' you and your party are expected. Go right on in."

The doors to the embassy slid open with a hiss. They walked inside. The reception desk was unmanned and the corridors were empty. Kel frowned. "They're probably all in the training room again," he said. "Another death match. Some people place bets."

"Of course they do," Yuthura said softly, her lips curving in subtle distaste.

* * *

There was a girl floating in one of the interrogation tanks. A girl with red hair and green eyes and her face. Revan punched the codes in to release the stasis fields and the girl fell on the ground, murmuring something weakly. 

"Get up," Revan said. _Did I ever look that young? Is that what I really look like?_

"I lost the game," the girl said. "If you want to kill me just go ahead and do it. I was weak."

"Get out of here," Canderous said. "And don't come back."

She looked up at him in surprise. The pleading look in her eyes shifted to something like scorn. "Who are you?"

"Canderous Ordo," the Mandalorian said. He stared at her; Revan couldn't read the expression in his eyes. Memory maybe. _She has my face. My old face. Not this sith mask._

"You heard him, get out." Revan's voice was loud and harsh, louder than she'd meant it to be. An edge of Force command there too. She hadn't meant to use it. _Damnit She has my face, how dare she steal my face._

The girl looked at her measuring, taking in the mask, the hooded robes, the saber hilt in her hand. "You're strong," she said. "Stronger than I am. And you let me out of that tank. I'll back you, if you want, with the others."

Kel rolled his eyes and tapped his foot impatiently. "You're Lysteria, aren't you?" He said to the girl.

She nodded. "You're Kel, Kel Algwinn, one of the ones from Korriban. You were going as Malak before."

"Yeah well, I've dropped that now, now that I can be the Apprentice to the real Darth Revan," he grinned at her.

Lysteria looked at Revan again. "Let me see," she said.

Revan took off her mask and pushed off her hood. The lights were harsh on her eyes but she didn't blink. "There's more from Korriban here Kel?" she asked quietly.

"A few, ones that you didn't manage to kill...you killed almost everyone in the Academy." A note of admiration in his voice. _Stupid kid._

"They were attacking me. And Carth. And Mission." Revan said.

Lysteria arched her eyebrows. "You sound just like the vids," she said admiringly. "I practiced and practiced but I couldn't get the accent right. It's a strange one, kind of like a mix between Arkanian and upper-crust Coruscanti. "But why would you make yourself look ugly? The tattoos are really a bit much. Did you bleach your skin to make it that color? And the eyes, are those implants or some kind of dye?"

"Ugly. Thanks," Revan muttered. "I'd advise you leaving here, Lysteria. I'm going to put an end to the games once and for all."

"I think I'll stay and watch," the girl giggled. She wasn't wearing much, just a brief jumpsuit that left her arms and legs bare. Smooth pale skin, with a few freckles. _My skin. My face. My body. Damnit._

"Do what you want," Revan tried to sound bored and started walking again. She left the mask off, stuffing it in her belt. The others followed behind.

Her hand slid in her pocket again, felt the reassuring weight of the permacrete. Carth had taught her well, him and Mission. _Explosives are dependable if you know what you're doing. The back-up plan._

The hall wound around a few times, and they passed the pressure doors. Revan still wasn't sure why they were there. Absently, she remembered how much time they'd spent puzzling over them before. Beyond them, a normal doorway led to the north hallway and the training quarters. There were guards posted here in battle armor, but they just waved them through.

"You're late," called out one of them. "I wouldn't want to be in your shoes. He'll be displeased."

"Somehow I doubt that," Kel said coldly.

"He? He who?" A small knot of uncertainty. Kel sounded...too self-assured suddenly. He looked too smug.

Kel laughed. "The Master of the Games, who else? You don't know much about the Sith now, do you Revan? Things have changed."

"You've all become slothful braggarts who dress up like dead people. Yes, I'd say they have," she retorted. "Yuthura, do you know anything about this?"

"I've been avoiding the Sith, ever since they starting coming on pilgrimages to kill me," the Twi'lek answered.

"Well," Kel laughed. "He knows _you_ Lord Revan. And he's so happy that you aren't dead."

Doors slid open. A large square room with lines of people along one side of it. On the other side, two women fought. One was dressed in black robes and red body armor—a painfully familiar costume--the other in a simple white jumpsuit, orange hair a blaze of fire down her back. Both wielded double-bladed sabers and moved with dizzying speed, cutting and undercutting in a clash of energy. Revan felt the Force prickle on the back of her neck. Not from the duelists—this seemed like a pure test of combat--but from the crowd behind them. Maybe forty people in the room, mostly young, most human, although a smattering of Twi'lek and Rodian faces here too. Two selkath in the corner. Every one of them sang with the force--a dark dirge of power. Anger, hatred, angst, passion. And fear. Fear of one man who stood between two Malak look-alikes. He was clad all in silver armor, and his face was covered completely by a visor so polished it shone like a mirror.

_Well whoever 'He' is, there he is._

The girl in white cried out suddenly and the crowd hissed. Her arm was gone, a smoking stump and the hand holding her saber was on the ground. She sank to her knees keening in pain, and the masked figure moved in to finish her off.

That girl had her face too. Revan was suddenly very angry, and very tired of all of this.

_"Stop," _she said channeling the Force command at the masked woman with all of the power she could muster. The word reverberated around the room and the woman paused, that masked head turning to look at her. _My mask, my clothing. Mine._

The girl in white bit her lip and stopped crying, clutching her arm at her side. Revan suspected she was going into shock.

"Yuthura," she mumbled. "Do something."

A wash of pale light surrounded the woman, stabilizing her. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she fainted.

"All I can do for now," the Twi'lek said. "But you'd better say something to them soon, that masked man—the one in silver—he's dangerous, very dangerous, I can sense it."

"Yeah..." Revan muttered. "He wasn't part of my plan."

"It's good to see you," the man said to her, walking forward slowly. "Do you remember a game? On Mandalore it's called chess."

"No." Revan said. It was true.

"In chess, the objective is to capture the King. But the King is a useless piece himself. His moves are constrained. The Queen is most powerful, but she is too public, too exposed. The real play comes in the dance the other pieces play. The rooks, the bishops, the knights and the pawns."

"And you are...?" Revan squared her shoulders and looked at him. Nothing familiar in that voice. No sense of recognition from the Force. Whoever he was he was cloaked in mystery as impenetrable as the glare of light off that visor. In its reflection she saw only herself.

The man shrugged. "I like to fancy that I'm a bishop, actually. Of a sort. But it's you I wanted to talk about."

"Have we met?"

"Ah, you wound me with the question! Do you doubt that we have?"

His accent was blank, a carefully scrubbed voice like one from the holovids. She'd never seen armor like his before, and there was nothing she could discern of his origins from his movements or his gestures. _Probably human, underneath the mask. _That was it. Power there, yes. But veiled in a mist that she couldn't penetrate.

"Yes," Revan said. "I doubt that we have. You look like the typical blustering sith fool, trying to impress me."

_Maybe I can offend him?_

The man only laughed. "I want to ask you a question. You've been a player of chess all your life, whether you remember it or not. And in time you've been a knight, a queen and a pawn. Which role did you prefer?"

"I only remember being the pawn," Revan swallowed, trying to sound bored.

"When a piece crosses the board even a pawn can be a queen. It seems to me, in your recent history you took the crown."

"Ah, but did I keep it?" Revan tried banter. She'd never been very good at it. Her light words rang false, even to herself.

"I'd say you destroyed the board, myself. Swept it clean, balanced the scales. The conquest of worlds becomes difficult with no armada. Soldiers become more reluctant to wage wars with no healing. A different game, yes...but no less interesting to a true disciple of the art."

The silvery mask was only a few feet away now. Revan considering trying to run him through. He seemed to think much of himself, everyone in the room seemed afraid of him. It would be easier perhaps to sort out who he was, if he were dead. But the whispering rustles of forty-odd Force users surrounding them gave her pause. _I'm good, or I was good. But not that good, definitely not now. Right, the game changes—but on with the plan._

"I've returned," she intoned dramatically to the room. The man in the silver mask stopped his advance and looked at her, crossed his arms. He appeared to be unarmed.

"Search your hearts and your minds, you know it to be true." Revan said, letting the Force whip around her. Her robes billowed. "You all felt my return, although perhaps only a few understood what it meant. Who among you know me for my true self? Kel Algwinn and Yuthura Ban have come forward to pay me obeisance and serve me. Who else among you will be among the first to kneel to the new ruler of the Sith Empire?" Her voice hardened. "Or should I say the old ruler of the Sith Empire? The true Dark Lord?"

Voices murmured in confusion and she scanned the faces in the crowd. With the exception of her own face, mirrored here and there, sometimes with the telltale shimmer of a false holofield around it, sometimes not—none of them were familiar. Mostly they looked young, but there were a few here and there who looked like she could have known them before. _Maybe._

Then they all looked to the man in silver, like a flock of obedient kissra sheep, for his reaction.

The man in silver laughed. "Well done, Darth Revan," he said. "I will be the first to say that I remember you. I remember you well."

Carefully, he unfastened his visor. Revan's breath caught and she was aware of her friends flanking her back, hands close to their weapons, expecting the worst. She was herself. Whose face would be revealed?

An ordinary man's face. Young, perhaps twenty standard years and even-featured, perhaps even handsome, although the nose was a little long for symmetry and his fair hair was slicked back at the temples, giving him a distinguished, if sinister look. His eyes were as yellow as her own. Fallen eyes, sith eyes, burning like twin pits of hell.

He was no one that she remembered. He knelt before her elaborately, as if this was a Coruscanti ball and he was about to ask her to dance.

_Clink of glasses and the murmur of soft conversation. Malak looked out of place in his father's colors, the heavy robes hung awkwardly on his broad shoulders better suited for battlesuits. But he danced like a prince, and when she didn't pay attention to her clumsy feet, Revan felt as beautiful as any princess in a fairytale._

_My mind...a useful memory would be nice! Not some silly diplomatic party!_

His mouth curved in a smile and for a half-second she expected him to ask her to dance.

"Perhaps. Later. But not now, Lord Revan," he said.

Then several things happened at once. Or rather, one thing, which caused the rest.

HK.

Moving with inhuman speed the assassin droid fired at the young man. Only force-honed reflexes saved him. HK moved in closer for another shot as several of the spectators closed in to stop him. Waves of force-called lightening shattered against the droid's metal skin and there was a hiss of particle blades, every one glowing red as her droid's eyes. Someone threw a grenade—Canderous? —At the spectators and the resultant flash blinded her even through the mask. Revan screamed and threw herself on top of the young man—whether to finish the job or stop it, she wasn't completely sure. Whatever this was, it was _not_ the plan. She grabbed the force, calling it, letting it run through her like pure energy and threw it at the crowd. It felt sweet and good. There was a pulse, a shockwave almost like an earthquake and then silence. She opened her eyes cautiously; afraid of what she would see.

All around her, bodies lying prone. To her relief they looked unharmed. _Stunned them, I stunned them all..._her eyes swept around the room. _I stunned all the Sith...and my friends. Oh._

HK leveled his rifle at her. "Suggestion Master: it would be easier for me to ensure a deadly strike if you moved. I would not like for you to suffer the same fate as that meatbag Senator who owned me before we were happily reunited."

"Cease hostile action, HK. That's an order."

Underneath her, the man stirred cautiously, muttering an old Mandalorian curse. "Call your pet off, Rev," he said. "I'd rather not kill you."

"Objection: Master. The meatbag that you are protecting is the last in the series of assassination targets that you activated five standard years ago. He is the culmination of my purpose, my life's work. Please master, let me end his life."

The stun had been brief, around them, figures stirred. _No time now. No time left. _

"End the program," Revan insisted.

"Gladly, if you would just move first? Please move Master. I am really quite fond of you."

"No. I no longer wish for you to kill this target. End the program. Stop it. Now, HK. Primary override. I am your master. No you can't kill this man. Not right now."

"Perhaps later?"

_How could circuitry and metal sound so hopeful?_

"We'll see. But only on my direct command—a new direct command. Disregard the previous one—erase—_but then I'll never know what—_no. Don't erase it. Tell me about it. Now. And fast."

"Get off me, Rev." The young man sighed. "I'll tell you myself."

She rolled off of him warily. One eye on HK and the other one on him. "Your name?"

"Oerin Lin."

Nothing. It meant nothing at all, but behind her HK whirred with something that sounded almost like a petulant whine.

"Master, you ordered me to destroy the clan Lin down to the last babe in the cradle. That man is the last. He escaped me before, much to my deep regret."

_Sand. Sand and blood. Clan Lin. On Mandalore. What happened on Mandalore?_

Revan swallowed. "So. I killed your family?"

"I prefer to think that you made me the head of my family." He grinned coldly. "Except for you, of course, Lord Revan. But your claim was always...a little problematic. And you never chose to press the issue."

"You don't look Mandalorian," Revan said doubtfully. _Her claim? Later, later. If there was a later. _"And they're not known for their force sensitivity." _For which much of the galaxy has always been eternally grateful._

She got to her feet and backed towards HK. Around her most of the others were stirring. She looked down at Canderous. He lay perfectly still, but a muscle twitched in his cheek. He gave her a slight nod. _So this man—Oerin Lin's not lying?_

"Half Mandalorian, actually. My father experimented, trying to breed the force into our line. I was the only success. I think my mother was from Osseus originally. She—didn't talk about it much."

Canderous was the first on his feet again. The warrior was more resilient than anyone she'd ever met—or remembered—meeting before. He came to her side, and nodded his head at Oerin. "You've grown some," he said. "Since the last time I saw you. Congratulations on your ascent."

"You honor me, Ordo." Oerin raised his hand in a time-honored gesture and Canderous clasped it. It was not so much a handshake as a test of strength. Revan realized none of them had been speaking Basic, only when Oerin turned back to the Sith behind them, most of which had at least regained consciousness, if not full mobility, and addressed them in them in the galactic standard.

"I think Darth Revan has proven herself, as if there was every any doubt. Who now among you will come to swear allegiance to the true Dark Lord of the Sith? The age of games is over. Who among you felt her wake? Who among you is ready to serve?"

"When did we first meet?" Revan asked quietly in Mandalorian. She kept her eyes on the crowd and her head high, but was painfully aware of her friends, struggling to their feet behind her. _I'm sorry,_ she thought aimlessly.

The man smiled. "In my father's camp. We used to play chess."

She reached for a memory that wasn't there. _Only the clink of glasses again, and the cultured voices laughing gently at jokes she didn't really understand._

It was more disturbing, and half-familiar than she wanted to admit, all of these fresh young faces kneeling before her. Kel knelt too. Yuthura as well, with only a slight glint in those violet eyes revealing that she understood the game. That it was a game. At least, it was supposed to be.

The masked figure wearing her robes came last, peeling back her hood as she came. Revan expected to see another mirror of her old self, but the woman's face was golden-skinned and almond-eyed, her black hair shorn in a topknot in the Derailan style. Actually, somehow, that was worse, like a vision of home that was only a lie. But she didn't recognize her either. She didn't recognize any of them.

"I remember you, Darth Revan," a deep-voiced man with a burn scar on his cheek said.

"I felt you rise again," whispered a round-faced woman, whose eyes were older than her face.

"As did I," murmured one of the Malaks deferentially, something like fear in his false sith eyes. The other Malak deactivated his holo mask and knelt without a word, staring hard at the ground as if awaiting some punishment. Without being Malak anymore he was pudgy and short. His eyes though...they burned with dark fire.

"And I," said another one. And another.

On the floor, the red-haired girl in white moaned restlessly in her pain-filled sleep.

"Lord Revan!" the Derailan called out to her, a flash in her eyes that was almost a challenge. _Almost but not quite. Not yet anyways_. "I served you in the Mandalorian wars. I served you with the Sith. Where will you ask me to serve you now?"

Revan fingered the hunk of permacrete in her pocket and considered the alternate plan of blowing them all up again. It had some simple merits. All of these stories, and every one of them would be the same. _You led us into darkness_, the faces seemed to whisper. _Let us follow you there again. This is all your fault. Let's have some more war and death. _The violent wash of hate startled her. _At least the Jedi Council aren't complete idiots. Or...well, not like this._

"It's really true then," Lysteria said from somewhere to her left. Revan glanced over frowning. She'd forgotten about the girl. Lysteria knelt hastily, the pale ivory face flushing pink. _My face, mine. Idiots. Fools.._

"I'm pleased you all understand," she said coolly. "As Oerin Lin has said, the game has changed. The fleet is in tatters, the kolto is destroyed. And you sith bet on duels like weak whining children, whimpering in the dark. Even now the remnants of the Republic fleet converge on the few worlds we have left of the Sith Empire, circling like hungry dogs.

A few looked almost ashamed, more looked angry.

"What would you have us do instead, Lord Revan?" Oerin said. It was not so much a question as a challenge.

_Here it comes._

"The seas of Manaan are poisoned." _Only myself and two dead scientists know the entire truth about why. In that airlock on her knees again, looking at their shattered bodies. She didn't remember killing them, only the anger she felt that they'd threatened her. That they'd been stupid and proud enough to betray the Selkath in the name of good for the Republic. Stupid enough to wake monsters. Another monster for her to kill. Only the monster was a god. The Selkath's god and I killed it._

"The kolto may return in this generation, years from now, or it may not. There's no instant cure, no magic Force that one side can use to fix this. But the Force could help, help cleanse the taint, if there was enough power, focused, enough."

"So we've gathered," muttered Kel at her side.

"And yet, you do nothing." Revan spat. "The Jedi Order are few, and weak—and yet in this they surpass you. They've been down there, healing the waters as much as they can. They lack numbers, they lack strength. Strength you have, I can feel the power in this room."

"So," Oerin said mockingly. "You'd have us help the Jedi?"

"Perhaps..." Revan let her voice trail off suggestively. _No matter what I do the Sith and the Republic will turn this planet into an armed camp for one side or another. Maybe...maybe this will help speed things up. Fix the kolto faster. With no kolto, the galaxy bleeds. More power would help heal the oceans, and it will--at least--keep them all busy._

She lifted her head and addressed them all with her best empty-eyed yellow stare. "I need to use your computers," she said. Absolute authority in her voice. _Don't let them start wondering, or thinking. "_I assume your resources are capable of sending a an untraceable message Perhaps...more than one?"

"I think you'll find our systems more than capable," Oerin drawled, cool amusement in his voice. "Are you going to send a message to the remnants of your fleet Lord Revan?"

_There's a thought._

"How many ships are left, still under the Sith armada, and not compromised by the Republic filth?" Revan asked, trying to sound bored.

"Nine capital ships, on the Outer Rim, the last I checked. Nominally of course, they follow the orders of a certain Darth Krell—but I'm sure they'd be honored to return to your personal command." Oerin grinned, a feral wild grin. "They're in the Eosin sector, at the moment—but as you know that puts them in easy access to Republic worlds. Or—perhaps—the Republic has retaken the former Sith mining station and slave colony on Sleyhhorn. Perhaps you'd like to address your efforts there? Although," he considered thoughtfully, "Upsetting the Hutts is never a good idea. They serve us as well under Republic control as they did under Sith. Then there's Endar...the scene of one of your first victories. Perhaps..."

"Send them to the Malachor system," Revan said. "Far orbit, around the farthest planet. Cloaked. They _do_ have cloaking abilities don't they?"

Oerin blinked, and for a moment his smile seemed forced. "But of course," he said. "I'll show you the central command center. You can give the orders yourself."

Revan sighed petulantly. "I have one other request."

"We are all at your disposal. Is there anyone you want me to—dispose of? Some of those pretenders perhaps? The others would respect you more..."

_Damn him. I should just kill him and be done with it. But I have to know who is he is. Why he is important. Whatever happened on Mandalore, he knows. _

"Scar them horribly," Revan said. "But don't let them die. And Oerin?"

"Yes, Lord Revan."

"Only scar the ones with my face. The ones that just use holos...don't bother. Pathetic fools will follow me like sheep well enough without it."

"Your word is my desire," Oerin said. "Let me show you the command center now.

They followed him out of the room and down the hall. "You're very lucky," Canderous said softly, in a gutter Terisian slang dialect she'd never known he'd learned, "that Carth isn't here to see this. If he was, we'd all be dead already. Damn pilot could never learn when to shut up and let you work."

"Mmmm," Revan said, nodding slightly. She was afraid to say more.

Zaalbar patted her hesitantly on the shoulder, as if to make sure she was still there. Still herself.

_Barely. _The Force sang around her so sweetly, like forty voices chanting her name. Familiar feeling, this. The feeling, but no memory. The feeling was..._Don't think about it. Just act._

They reached the command center, a large room with many computer banks. She nodded to Zaalbar and he went to the main controls to check the sequences they'd discussed. Oerin raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Eventually the wookiee growled his affirmation and she went to them herself, tapping in the orders to send the Sith armada into Mandalorian space. _I don't expect they will listen, but it's a gesture. _She signed it quickly with a visual confirmation.

"This is Darth Revan, I have returned. Please follow the instructions and wait for my further commands." _I—I shouldn't have said please. Damnit. Ok, keep moving, keep moving._

Oerin himself was busy at another control bank. She tried not to look too interested. _Scarring, I told him to scar those women with my face. They had my face! They deserve it! Gods, get us off of Manaan. I can't take much more of this. Carth...I wish you were here. Canderous is right, Carth would have gotten us killed already. Carth must never see me like this. I must not be this, not to him._

"Let me show you to your quarters now, Lord."

Oerin was smiling at her.

_Final gambit._

_Check._ _It's called check._

Was that his voice in her mind? Was it a memory or was he reading her thoughts?

"Show them to Yuthura and the Algwinn boy. They will determine if they are satisfactory. I've arranged for a special shipment of..._certain items_ that I require to be sent to one of the lower docking bays. I need to borrow—I need to use one of your transports and retrieve them."

Oerin nodded to one of the guards at standing at attention at the door. "Show them my quarters," he said. "I'll find other rooms, Lord Revan, it's no concern."

"I wasn't concerned." She raised an eyebrow and tapped her foot. Kel and Yuthura followed the guard out the door. The Twi'lek's mind brushed hers for a moment—brief as a heartbeat—_Luck._

Oerin Lin just stood there. His face broke into a slow grin. "I'll show you to the transports myself," he said. "But you shouldn't say 'borrow' Lord Revan. They are, as are all things, yours."

"Certainly." She raised her chin and they all followed him down the hall, trailed still by the luggage carrier.

"Shouldn't we send your belongings off to your quarters?" He asked her lightly.

Revan raised her fist. "Do you dare question my authority," she hissed.

Oerin bowed his head. "Of course not, I owe you allegiance across two empires. I live to serve you, Darth Revan. Darth Revan _Mandalore_."

"Of course you do," she muttered. _Keep moving. Later Canderous, we will need to talk._

They reached the transport dock. Designed for inter-city travel, two small cargo ships sat in the hanger. Revan kept walking slowly, checking the impulse to break into a run. Oerin continued walking at her side, his face as open and sunny as a happy day. He was smiling, holding his helmet under his arm.

"Thank you," she said to him formally, and immediately inwardly winced. _Please. Thank you. Yes I will be your Dark Lord of the Sith, if that's ok with you. Would you like some tea?_

Oerin sighed at her. "Thank you?" He laughed, shaking his head. "What did the Jedi do to you, Rev? You didn't even say thank you when I met you the _first_ time."

"Goodbye Oerin Lin," she nodded her head stiffly. "Go now. Leave us."

"No," he said. "I'm coming with you."

"Then stop dawdling Lin," Canderous growled. "We're in a hurry here."

Revan looked at him in astonishment. Canderous took her arm firmly, almost dragging her up the ramp. "He's not a threat to us," Canderous hissed in that gutter slang again. "He does owe you allegiance. Me too. We outrank him—for now. And he might be useful. He's the Mandalore. Come on."

She followed him wordlessly up the ramp. There were no words. Zaalbar was already punching in the controls.

Oerin Lin followed, keeping a wary eye on HK. The droid didn't take his eyes off him. Other than that Lin looked relaxed, and pleased as a young man strolling through a park. Or stealing a speeder. Or conquering worlds.

"He said something...about _my _claim?"

Canderous looked pained. "It's not something we usually discuss with outsiders. Later Revan, I promise I'll tell you later. Right now let's get the nine hells off Manaan."

Zaalbar handled the transport smoothly, and they circled down. The lower bays were mostly deserted now that kolto production had dried up completely. Docking Bay 56 looked ordinary enough. A small triangular ship was parked there, nondescript, with Coruscanti markings on its hull. A galaxy cruiser, favored by not-so-rich businessmen, or small planetary governments. Not fast, but not slow. Not expensive, but well-made. Zaalbar settled their little transport next to it.

"Preliminary scans are fine," he growled. "No signs of sabotage. Mission-ghost says it's registered to a Coruscanti cantina owner. A Hutt known as Iggis. Probably a smuggler of some kind, but no warrants. It looks good. Let's go."

"I hope so," Revan said, trying not to glare at Canderous or Lin. They were chatting amiably as they walked down the loading ramp.

_This better be good Cand'—that man scares me. And we have enough to worry about as it is._

The name of the little ship was _Girl from Hoth. _Revan didn't roll her eyes, she just ran up to the ramp. It was locked. "Verify identity," a metallic voice chimed.

"Open the doors," Revan said, crossing her fingers.

"Confirmed, welcome aboard, Lord Revan."

The doors slid open. A dim light flickered inside.

_Well, if the Genoharadan want me dead this is it._

"If I'm wrong," Revan began. "And this is the end, I want you all to know that I—"

"The Jedi know that you've left the Sith compound," Oerin said, in an almost bored voice. "I can sense their confusion. We should really get going now."

He ran up the steps. Revan followed, the rest at her heels. Zaalbar pulled the door closed behind him. Almost immediately, the ship whirred to life and started to move. Move fast.

She made her way to the bridge and frowned. There was no bridge, no bridge per se. Where it had once been perhaps, someone had installed couches and a small combat training area.

"Departure approval confirmed," the metallic voice chimed. "Accelerating to leave Manaan orbit in thirty seconds. Please strap yourselves in to prevent injury. Kolto supplies are very limited."

"Who's flying this ship?" Revan whispered.

"I think it's a drone ship," Canderous said. "Automatically piloted with a pre-determined destination. Ship?" he raised his voice. No response.

"Pre-determined destination?" _What if it's not Coruscant? What if it's the middle of some sun? Now that would be a nice dramatic Genoharadan execution. Lure me onto a ship and throw me into the heart of a sun...._

"Was that a query, Lord Revan?" asked the ship.

"Uh, yes. What is our destination?"

"Coruscant. Port 23, docking bay 12. My logs have a message for you, would you like to hear it now?"

"I guess it likes you," Oerin said shrugging. He was the only one who'd strapped himself in. The ship was beginning to accelerate now, and Revan automatically pushed herself into a corner, holding tight to the walls. HK's magnetic locks clicked in, rendering him immobile, at least for the moment. Zaalbar and Canderous hastily sat down on the nearest chairs and buckled them.

"Now, would be fine," Revan said, eyeing the port screen. Manaan was a curve of blue water now above a bluer sky, shading quickly to black.

Hulas' face appeared on a particle screen in the middle of the room. _"Welcome, Lord Revan, thank you for accepting my hospitality, poor as it is. The journey to Coruscant will take about three standard weeks. As I mentioned, I do owe you a favor, but I owe my employer one as well. How fortunate for us all that I can fulfill both your interests with a single action. I hope after you kill him you'll remember me kindly. This ship was meant to be a drone smuggling run of firaxan larvae bound for a Coruscanti underground lab. Its recipients do not expect to find anyone on board, so prepare for that as you will. I think you'll find the man you're seeking at 100 Thanos 3, on the upper level. Good luck, and may it keep you well."_

The face vanished.

"100 Thanos 3," HK said. "Master, are we going home?"

_I miss you Carth. Please be ok._

The ship shot forward, and the sky became a blanket of stars. When they made the hyperspace jump she was violently ill.

_Some things never change._


	8. Rat's Alley

_XXX_

_Some things never change._

_Other things, they change. They change a lot._

_XXX_

**Chapter 8 Rat's Alley**

"Perfectly standard for an interplanetary production!" The Hutt waved her arm and took another handful of harrin larvae from the crystal glass bowl. She crunched on them delicately and pointed a thin claw at the fine print of the contract. "It just means, if something happens to the ship your beneficiary will still receive full—ulp—estimated royalties." Her forked purple tongue swept her lips clean and she reached for another wriggling morsel. "A formality, Rahasia—the ship's a Republic cruiser—nothing safer in the galaxy!"

Rahasia Sandral frowned at the contact, glancing anxiously up at her agent. "It doesn't mention shipboard catastrophe," she began again, "only loss to my own life and limb."

Juut the Hutt shrugged, easing her bulk in the floating chair. "Legalese..." Her red eyes narrowed. "Look, do you want the job or not?"

"I—was just curious...." Rahasia needed the money. Shen hadn't been the same since the destruction of Dantooine. She tried not to think of him, sitting alone in their shabby apartment on Endar. _Its noon, so he's probably drunk by now, drunk and crying again._

"It's the standard kind of work; the carth is some kind of improvisational actor. I trust that won't bother you?"

"Of course not," Rahasia said quickly. "Did I ever tell you I met the real Carth Onasi? He was with _her,_ on Dantooine."

"Yes," Juut said. "You've mentioned it. Just sign right here—on the dotted line...."

Rahasia signed. They were on one of the floating orbitals around Endar, and the production she'd been working on—_Revan and Canderous, the Untold Story--_ had been cancelled abruptly. She needed the money. The shipboard holovid production would pick her up in another day. She had to pack. And send a message to Shen.

_I hope he doesn't drink away my entire advance before I get back._

XXX

After making the first hyperspace jump, and being violently ill, Revan slept. There were only two rooms on the ship and she'd commandeered the bridge as her bunk--curling up on a plush synthide couch that smelled unpleasantly like incense and Selkath sweat. She didn't even want to think about why that would be.

Zaalbar was fiddling with the ships console banks, groaning sadly. The _Girl from Hoth _had no outside comm links. _We'll have to patch something in somehow. _Zaalbar was trying. The sound of his soft curses lulled to her sleep, and there her dreams waited, like an ambush of knives.

XXX

They'd been on Yavin station for two days, refitting the ship's shields since the last sith ambush caught them blind after Kashyyyk. Yavin Station was Polla's idea, and she'd been pleased to see it already charted on the _Hawk's_ star map. Davik's planned destination, maybe. She'd done some work for Suvam in her smuggling days. She had looked forward to seeing the old Rodian again.

It was so funny how he pretended not to recognize her. She played along with it, the Rodian had his reasons, she assumed. You don't become a good smuggler by questioning your boss.

Their next destination would be Tantooine. But here on Yavin, everyone else was off ship. She'd left Mission playing cards with the funny Rodian; and Bastila staring at the surface of Yavin IV and speaking quietly to Jolee. Zaalbar, Canderous and Carth were looking over Suvam's supplies, refitting their weapons, and joking cautiously, between themselves. That was good to see. Polla had worried that Canderous and Carth might kill each other at first. Old enemies, stuck together by fate. But at least in armaments they had a common interest. Everyone was finally getting along. Mostly. Except for the sullen Cathar who refused to leave her room.

"Juhani?" Polla stuck her head in the doorway.

"You should knock." The Cathar's back was turned to her, and she sat rigidly on the bed, staring at the wall.

"I think we need to talk," Polla began.

"I tire of this," Juhani sighed. Tension was etched in every line of her furred shoulders. "What do you want?"

"To—talk," Polla began again uncertainly.

"Because _Malak_ said we should?"

The Cathar turned around and faced her—Polla—_no Revan—_noticed with dull relief that the woman's face wasn't scarred anymore by the terrible effects of her blades. But now Juhani wore a heavy slaver's collar around her neck. Striped fur covered her body, rippling with the muscles beneath. Her retractable claws gleamed.

"I fell to the darkness because I thought I took one life," Juhani whispered. "How many lives did you take, Revan? How do you live with yourself? Have you ever asked yourself why the Jedi don't kill?"

"I've seen the Jedi kill," Revan snapped back. "I've seen _you_ kill. What about Xor? You laughed when you cut him down."

"You taunted me, you goaded me. You told me to do it!" Juhani's lips were bared in a feral smile. Crackles of lightning flickered in her hands. She moved towards Revan with deadly deliberate grace.

"He deserved it. He killed your race. You were the last of your kind!"

The Cathar paused. "Yes," she said quietly, a world of accusation in that agreement. "I was."

"Not everything is my fault!" Revan's anger blistered, hot and furious like tears. "I'm trying, that's all I've ever done is try!"

"The Jedi do not kill because it—oh why try and explain this to you. You never listened to me--to any of us. You're selfish, Revan, you always were."

Revan laughed hollowly. "That's it then, that's the moral? The Jedi don't kill and I'm selfish."

"Yes," Juhani said. "Now go away."

XXX

Polla opened her eyes. She was floating. She felt a tingling sensation on her skin and she was wearing some kind of goggles. _I'm in a bacta tank. The explosion. I must have been hurt very badly. What happened? _Slowly, her surroundings registered: a medical droid, pale green metal antiseptic walls, and a dark-haired woman sitting on a chair, watching her closely. There was a beeping noise as the medical instruments registered her waking. The woman gave her a reassuring smile. Her hair was pulled back in two fat braids and her eyes were wide and blue. She looked young, very young to be a healer. She was wearing a nondescript gray coverall and had a datapad on her lap

"Don't try and speak yet," the woman said. Her accent wasn't local. Polla's head hurt. _Seiran dared me to race the canyon loop, what was I thinking?_ She'd come back to Deraila after everything had gone wrong: Therion told her he just wanted to be friends; and her shipment of spice was wrecked by kanna mites. But everyone was so happy to see her at home and she'd gotten stupid drunk and tried to race the loop in the dark.

_I'm so lucky not to be dead._

Polla tapped on the walls of the tank, in silent entreaty—let me out. Her breath hissed through the breathing mask. "H-how long?" Her voice sounded strange through the mask, or was it just her own ears, muffled by the bacta?

"You've been unconscious for a month," the woman said, getting up to check the monitors. She pushed a few buttons, and smiled reassuringly. "You're much, much better than you were."

"What...hospital?"

"A naval one. You're on the _Ascendant, _in orbit around Deraila The local planetary authorities asked us to help mend you, our facilities are better than anything they have groundside."

"M-my parents?"

"They've been up to see you every week," the woman looked at her and walked over to the glass. "Your parents and your cousins, your aunts, uncles...your family must love you very much, Polla Organa."

Her head hurt. "That's what families are for—can I get out now?"

The nurse smiled. "Soon, I promise. There's one thing. It's a formality with head wounds like these. We like to take a holocron of the victim's memories. We need to monitor if there's been any damage to your mind. It won't hurt, but I need your consent."

"Um...sure—if you think it will help me." _A holocron? Holocrons were expensive toys. Why would they need to capture my memories unless—unless I'm—is she lying? Am I going to die?_

The woman's smile faltered for a moment and her blue eyes looked too bright. "You're going to be just fine, Polla. Just fine.

XXX

Her head still hurt, but at least they'd let her out of that damn tank. Polla Organa sat on the bed, sipping juice. Her nurse, Bastila Shan, sat on the chair beside her, holding her hand. It was soothing, having her there. The nurse rarely left her side.

"I want to see my mother," she insisted again, with a faint frown. Her mind felt fuzzy, as if the crash had rattled her brains loose. Hadn't she asked this before?

"You will," Bastila said, looking away. "But I've told you, we've left Derailan orbit now. This is a Republic ship and we couldn't sit still forever waiting for you to get better."

"I'm fine," Polla lied.

"You'll get back to Deraila eventually. Now—let me ask you some questions." Bastila's voice was soft and concerned.

Polla scowled_. Another test of her memories._ The woman was relentless. "Go ahead," she said. The juice tasted sour and she put it down on the small table next to her bed. Her arm looked so pale and white and bruised. She stared at her hands as if they belonged to a stranger. Suddenly she felt sickeningly disoriented. "I want to see a mirror," she insisted. Her voice sounded strange too--not like her own voice at all.

"What is the last thing you remember?" Bastila's voice jerked her back to the present.

"Hitting a stone wall, two hundred meters up from the ground." She saw it coming at her again. Black night, black wall...as a tweener she'd run the course in the dark, knowing every twist of it as surely as she now knew the hyperspace jump points on the Corellian trade spire. But now...it had been seven years since she'd been home, seven years to forget things. Twenty-seven years old and her father was going to kill her—"My father," she said suddenly, panicked. "He must be so angry."

"No—no, he's—just happy you're alive. All of your family is, Polla." Bastila's voice was automatically reassuring, as if they'd had this conversation many times before—_had they? Why can't I remember? _"Your family loves you very much," Bastila said. "And they're so proud of you."

"Proud?" Polla shook her head, which only made it hurt more. Her hand reached for it, feeling a web of heavy bandages. _I didn't have those before, did I? Am I worse?_

"Proud." Bastila nodded emphatically. "You've agreed to join the Republic navy. We have use for a pilot with your skills. As soon as you're better, we're going on a special assignment."

_Father always said the Republic was useless. We're lucky on Deraila, he said—too remote to be caught in the wars or the quagmire of Coruscanti politics...when he'd had a little too much wine he'd say that the Sith had the right idea about things—but only, perhaps as a joke. In truth, he didn't think they were better than the Republic. Much. Me...I never cared._

Polla managed a faint smile at the nurse's obvious lie. "I can't imagine he'd be proud. My family never had much use for the Republic."

"Well the Republic needs you." Bastila lifted her chin. Polla half-expected to hear her start singing the anthem—the young nurse looked surprisingly like the girl in a recruitment poster she'd seen, not so long ago on Corellia. What had that slogan been? She frowned, reaching for the memory.

_Join the Republic and Save the Galaxy._

It was odd, she could feel the sincerity _radiating_ off Bastila's small frame—almost as if the girl was projecting somehow or—or something.

"My—skills," she repeated. _I can fly a small ship. (Or a glider into a canyon wall.) I'm not bad with repairs, or slicing security, but I can't imagine that they know about that. I just run errands for Suvam, really. And any extra work I pick up along the way...._

"Look," Polla began weakly. Her head was pounding again. "I don't want to seem ungrateful but I really don't want to have anything to do with this war."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice," Bastila said crisply. "You've already enlisted."

Polla sank back in the bed and closed her eyes. Her head hurt so much. _Maybe if I just stay sick they won't make me actually do anything. _What was that thing old Derriban used to say back on Tatooine? _Fuck the Republic. _She made a rude gesture with her hand and Bastila laughed, nervously.

_Now why is _she _nervous?_

_XXX_

_I don't—I don't remember this._

Bastila's voice was curiously detached. "No, Revan. But I do."

Revan sat up. The pain was gone. She struggled to find her voice. "This is—this is how it began?"

Bastila sighed. "Yes."

"Why are you showing me this, Bastila?"

"You have a right to know how it was." The younger woman's voice was very tired. Her expression was resigned, forced calm, forced acceptance, forced obligation.

"What happened to the real Polla?"

"I have no idea. I assume she went back to her loving family."

"Why her?" That seemed an easier question than 'why do this to me at all.' "Why her memories?"

"We needed someone with a similar physical build, someone close to your age, and someone who had—a happier past than your own. The Organa woman wasn't ideal but she was close enough, and she was in the right place at the right time." Bastila twisted her hands uncomfortably on her lap. "And she—she was nice. I liked her. The bond between you and me, Revan, was already established. The Council thought if we gave you a life and a personality that I liked, my task would be easier. Easier on me..." She shuddered. "Your own mind—what was left of it—was not a pleasant place."

A dozen angry things to say whirled in Revan's thoughts. She bit her lip and said none of them. There was a long silence, and finally she broke it. "No—I suppose it wasn't."

"Do you remember..." Bastila laughed nervously "No, I guess you wouldn't—but we met once, you and I. Before. Near the end of the Mandalorian wars. On Coruscant."

"You _know_ I don't remember." Revan tried to quell the hint of anger in her voice--not very well.

Bastila flinched. "Yes, I suppose I do." She twirled the end of one of her braids, twisting it in her fingers. "I was fourteen," she continued. "And recently promoted to Padawan. My Battle Meditation had manifested itself, and Master Vandar brought me from Dantooine to Coruscant to meet the Council—and you and Malak. I was very excited to meet you, I'd heard—everyone had heard—what you and your husb—what you and Malak had--"

"Me and my _what_?"

"Your—friend. You and Malak..."

_You and your--_

_Husband._

"My husband." She spoke the words quietly, wondering why she didn't feel more surprise. "Malak and I...."

Revan half-expected to hear his mocking laughter in her mind, but there was nothing, only a strange absence, like a tooth pulled where an emotion should have been.

Bastila looked away. "Yes," she said in a softer voice. "That was an old scandal by that time, and the Council had finally accepted it."

_We were married. I guess that's not a big surprise._

Revan bit her lip. "Just tell me the rest. We met, you and I. Was I terribly impressed by your youthful enthusiasm and great talent? Did I call you Nomi Sunrider reborn? Did I promise you a place in the fleet?"

Bastila shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. "No." She continued her voice artificially calm. _Years of jedi conditioning. _"I was in the meditation garden and you both came to me there, masked and hooded, as you always were—as all of the Jedi who served in the fleet were back then. You stood there and watched me, both of you, and said nothing. I—was a little insulted and proud and maybe a little frightened—no—intimidated...."

"Can you show me?" _I want to know how it was. I have to know how it was. During the wars. The wars and Malak and me. What I did. What did I do?_

Bastila looked at her, blue eyes wide and flat. "My memories," she said. "Do you want to see my memories?"

Revan swallowed. "Yes. Please."

XXX

The hospital room _shifted,_ and there was soft green grass under her knees. Bastila knelt, palms cupped to the side, concentrating very hard to keep her mind as open and as clear as water. She was only too aware of the two silent figures behind her, dressed in gray, faces covered by simple cloth masks. The masks made them identical, one tall and broad and one short and slight—all the Knights went masked now—but Padawan Bastila knew who these were, without even looking. She could feel the force around them like a star, sense the unspoken communication that flickered back and forth between their minds, even if she couldn't hear what they said. _They're talking about me, the D'Reev Knights are talking about _me! As she'd been instructed, she pushed her pride into a sense of calm instead, and tried to focus.

After what seemed like hours, Knight Revan spoke.

"Padawan Bastila Shan." The woman's voice was quiet, but it rang through the meditation garden like a bell.

Bastila got to her feet and slowly turned to face them. She nodded her head, formally. "Knight Revan, Knight Malak. It's an honor to meet you both."

The larger figure pushed his hood back, and pulled his mask down, exposing a wide face with clipped brown hair shaved to the scalp. It was a handsome face, Bastila thought—and then almost blushed at her reaction. "Relax, Padawan," he said. "This isn't an official visit."

The woman chuckled, and pulled off her own mask. Her eyes were a piercing green. That was the first thing you noticed. Bastila was left with a vague impression of delicate features, a pointed chin, flash of red hair under the hood, but those eyes met her own and held them with microscopic intensity.

"Have they told you what a great gift you have, and what an honor it will be to serve the Republic yet?" Revan drawled.

"I will be honored to serve the Republic, it's my—responsibility," Bastila answered, a bit unsettled.

Revan snorted. "Do you even know what Battle Meditation is?"

"It's a force ability that requires great concentration, an ability to inspire troops and turn the tides of battles...it's very rare and I—I will be honored to serve the Republic—"

"It's projected empathy, on a grand scale. You will inspire fleets, soldiers, generals and admirals, drive fear and confusion into the hearts of your enemies. Do you know what war is like, Padawan Bastila? People die. People die, entire ships of them—and worlds..." Revan's voice trailed off. Malak put a hand on her arm. The woman shook his hand away, keeping her eyes locked on Bastila's. Her voice was clipped and controlled.

"In our last encounter, the Mandalore's ships were ravaging Arakan, a planet with a heavy Republic military presence, shipyards, ammunitions factories, and a strong orbital defense. Arkanan would have been a great victory for them--eventually."

"I saw the news holos," Bastila said.

Revan laughed softly. "Yes, and you believed them, too—didn't you? Tell me—I don't watch them myself—what did they say Malak and I did?"

"You ordered the Republic fleet to disengage, retreat to the Iridan system, closer to the Core. Mandalorians only fight for the glory of battle and so they followed you. You had an ambush waiting, and destroyed half of their force."

Malak's voice was cold. "Mandalorians fight only for the glory of battle," he echoed her. "Sure they do, but they aren't _stupid._ Arakan would have been a rich plum for them. It would have been—except planet-side saboteurs bombed the entire planet before we left. On our orders. We destroyed everything of value. Shipyards, factories...and the remaining population who hadn't been evacuated before the Mandalorian assault. We couldn't get them out—it would have tipped our hand. We also left ten capital ships behind to die while the rest of our fleet retreated." He met Bastila's eyes levelly, his own strangely empty. "I don't have your gift, Padawan. But I felt every one of those lives end. Every Republic life, every Mandalorian. For someone like you—that feeling would be magnified a hundredfold. Do you think you are strong enough to stand that?"

Bastila frowned, this wasn't what she expected at all. She looked at Revan, who was staring at Malak, a faint frown sketched on her smooth brow. "How do you stand it, Knight Revan?" Bastila asked.

"It's different for me," Revan said, almost absently. She reached for Malak and put her arms around him. Again, Bastila had the sense of some unspoken communication.

"I have a great gift," the girl repeated, stubbornly. Watching them together made her even more uncomfortable. Traditionally, Jedi were allowed to marry—but only after years and years of training. Revan and Malak had broken that rule, they'd broken almost every rule she could think of and yet they were the saviors of the Republic, the ideal that every young Jedi dreamed of. Suddenly she felt a stab of very un-Jedi like envy. She couldn't imagine war—she'd never seen it except on the vids—but what would it be like to fly so boldly in the face of every convention? What would it be like to have people follow you? What would it be like to—to love like they did? Her cheeks flushed.

"You have a great curse," Revan said to Bastila, still looking at Malak. She leaned against him, but it was if her smaller figure was supporting his larger one—and not the other way around. "I don't envy you, Padawan Bastila—but—in some ways, you remind me of myself. Tell me, did you ever ask them if you could leave the Order?"

"Of course not!" Bastila was shocked.

Revan turned to her again, arched an eyebrow. She looked almost—disappointed. "They wouldn't have let you, even if you had asked. Being a precious commodity is never easy, and freedom is a relative thing. You and I are like opposite sides of the same coin, and it's a valuable currency."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"About us?" Revan laughed. "Your gift is that you feel—that's what Battle Meditation is, in its purest form. Mine is that I do not. All in all, I'd say I have it better than you do. I pity you...but I also—you should know that your gift is a danger. To yourself and to the Republic. Some things upset the balance of power. You could—it would be better for the Republic in the end if you never entered into the game at all."

"You're scaring her, Rev. She's just a kid." Malak said.

"It's an effective tactic, Mal." Revan pulled away from him and walked over to Bastila, looking her up and down. "You're fourteen standard, right?"

Bastila nodded.

"Did you know they already asked me to take you? The Senate did, anyways...the Council knows better—they're not completely ignorant. But still, if I hadn't turned them down, you'd be fitted right now for a nice set of gray robes and a mask, hastily Knighted, and sent off to the Rim to feel worlds burn. Feel men die." She laughed. "The Jedi Knights under our command can hardly stand it--many of them are only half-sane now..._that's_ something they don't talk about in the newsvids is it?" She smiled crookedly. "War changes things, Padawan. They need us—we're the only defense against the Mandalore's cloaking technology—but it changes us. If you were smart, you'd run away. Now."

Bastila lifted her chin. "How can you say that? The Mandalorian threat must be stopped. That is what is important—we serve, that's what we do. That's what the Jedi are _for._"

Malak looked tired, very tired. For the first time Bastila noticed the lines etched in his young face, the way his hair thinned a little at his forehead and his temples. "I think you've said enough, Rev," he sighed. "Probably too much, you usually do."

"She has a right to know," Revan insisted stubbornly. Her voice was hard, almost angry. "Listen to me, Padawan. You will _never_ serve on one of _my_ ships. There are two reasons. One, your gift is unstable, unpredictable, and vulnerable to your own weakness. Two, as I said, it's unbalancing. Whichever side engages it gains an unfair advantage over the other."

Bastila looked at her unbelievingly. "Unfair advantage? Isn't that the _point?" _she asked.

Revan chuckled. "You're so young, Bastila. I expect you'll learn—eventually. Try not to do too much damage to the rest of us in the process." She turned and walked away without a second glance. Bastila looked at Malak again, opening her mouth to say something—anything—but he only looked away.

"My wife lacks tact," he said slowly. "But she isn't wrong. Good-bye, Padawan. I don't expect we'll meet again."

_Maybe this was some kind of test,_ Bastila thought to herself. _The Knights were testing my resolve, my conviction._ _Well—I will not fail them._ She stayed in the garden for a very long time, reaching for serenity, while she tried to convince herself of that.

XXX

Shift again, ancient worn flagstones under her feet. Revan stared at them, disoriented. She was back in her own body again, but Bastila's tweener impressions of her were branded on her soul. _That's how we were? That's how it was?_

"Now, sometimes I wish I'd listened to you," Bastila said softly. "But then...later when you and Malak turned to the Sith, I thought about that day and convinced myself that you'd become traitors to the Republic even then. I told no one what you'd said to me. Later I told myself that maybe if I had..."

Revan didn't respond for a long time. When she finally did her voice was subdued. "I felt every life that we ended on the quest for the Star Forge," she said, looking up.

"Our bond," Bastila replied. Her voice was darker now and her skin was very pale. They were on the roof of the ancient temple again, sabers drawn. Juhani and Jolee dead at their feet. "_I _felt every life you took carelessly and needlessly, and every one drove me closer to this."

"Of course," Revan muttered. "My fault. Again. Everything." She stared down at her dead friends, at the mess she'd made of them.

"Maybe you should take your own advice," Bastila sneered. "Run away."

"I want Carth," Revan said. "I'm not leaving him behind. They took him, and I'm going to get him back."

"You want Carth," Bastila mimicked. "You're like a child crying for its mother. Carth, Carth, Carth. Carth, Carth, Carth. Have you ever thought, perhaps it would be better if Carth didn't want _you_?"

"Since this is _my_ dream, I assume I'm thinking that now, aren't I?"

"Right, _your_ dream." Again Bastila's voice mimicked her own so perfectly that Revan shivered.

_"Mine_. And I'm waking up now. Thanks for sharing, Bastila." Revan _pushed_ angrily and Bastila fell back. The girl was laughing as she fell, as the dream world fell to pieces around them. The temple walls shattered around them and Revan was falling--falling—her head hit something soft that smelled like fish and her eyes opened.

XXX

Revan blinked in the dim light of the ship, sat up on the couch. Zaalbar was still trying different code combinations on the main console, growling in frustration. She sat there for a moment, sorting out her thoughts—_Bastila's thoughts—_in her head, trying to organize them like cards in a sidedeck. _Polla Organa is—or was—real, Bastila lied to her too. The Mandalorian wars took a terrible toll. I didn't like Bastila. Malak and I were married....I had a great gift... I didn't feel anyone die, but all the other Jedi did. I called the war a—a game? _Her thoughts defied categorization spilled all over the metaphorical floor.

_Clink of glasses and the soft murmur of conversation. Malak's arms around her, and they danced, spinning like orbitals among the other--lesser--satellites._

Revan realized she was starving. _Life,_ she thought emptily_. Always boils down to the basics._

"Any luck, Zaal?" she said out loud.

"No," he groaned. "I'm trying to link in my external feed, but there's nothing to amplify the signal. I think I can get a patch in if I can tap into the ship's power supply.

"Be careful," Revan said, feeling useless. She wasn't bad with computers, but Zaalbar was much better. "I'm going to eat something and then I'll come help."

"Good," the wookiee said. "You need to eat. You need more strength for the trials ahead."

"Probably," she agreed.

Revan got up from the couch, and went into the fresher, cleaning herself quickly and efficiently, rinsing the sour taste from her mouth. She peered at her face in the mirror—were the dark marks a little lighter now? Were her eyes a little more green? She wanted to think so, but she couldn't tell. Her eyes didn't hurt as much in the light now, maybe that was a good sign...Someone had cleaned and folded her Star Forge robes and left them for her on the shelf next to the sonic. She shook them out and slipped into them, with a slight grimace. Well, they'd help intimidate Oerin maybe. And the fabric was soft.

Canderous and Oerin Lin were in the converted dining room. It had once been the ships cargo hold, she thought. Now it was the men's quarters. Three sleeping pallets were rolled against the one wall and the two Mandalorians sat at the table. The walls were lined with dirka wood from Endar—a needless luxury for a drone ship—and the metal benches were upholstered with red silk. There was an extensive selection of wines and liquors, on the table too--but almost no food.

"Canderous, we need to talk."

"Fine," Canderous said. "I'll tell you about Mandalore now if you eat something while I talk. There's no muscle left on your flesh, you look terrible."

Revan sat down on the bench next to him and picked up a piece of dried meat from the remnants of their Kashyyyk stores. She swallowed it down, trying not to gag at the taste, and reached for another. He nodded approvingly.

"It's true you are very thin." Oerin laughed. "But when I saw you last you were fat. You got very fat on Mandalore." He blushed as if he'd said something rude.

Revan ignored him. She still couldn't believe Canderous had let him on board. Lin was a cipher—_Lin is the Mandalore? Not that the title means much now, there's no empire left, his people are scattered across the galaxy. Petty mercenaries and thugs._

_Although, he seemed to be running the Sith on Manaan. Then again, the Sith on Manaan weren't that impressive._

"I'm eating," she said sweetly, through a mouthful of jerky that tasted, as Mission would have said, like dried bantha poo doo.

_There's got to be something better than this on board._

"I'm eating..." she repeated. "I'd eat more if there was something else to eat."

"This is it," Oerin said. "There's a lot of alcohol, and almost no food. I wish you'd told me, I would have brought supplies from the Embassy." He looked pained.

"Enough," Revan said. "The Mandalore. Why do I have a claim? Why does Oerin? And why did you insist on bringing him?" Pointedly, she ignored the young man himself and poured herself a glass of wine.

Canderous began with a heavy sigh. "Your claim to the Mandalore's seat wouldn't be recognized. For one thing, you're not one of us, one of the clans. For another, when you killed him, you cheated. You used the force. You won—combat is combat—but you didn't win honorably."

Oerin coughed. "Actually, Lord Revan is a member of Clan Lin," he said. "But the rest is true."

Canderous was too good a warrior to show expression easily, but Revan knew him very well. The wine sloshed in his glass and he put it down on the table too carefully. The muscles in his heavy hand flexed.

"She's not Mandalorian," the warrior said.

Oerin looked disgusted. "Of course not! She was adopted into the Clan. So, technically her claim to the Mandalore is almost as good as mine. Although, Ordo is right --you really should have killed my father without cheating, Rev."

"Adopted?" Canderous' eyebrow rose, a heavy stripe of gray bisected by a scar. He frowned and looked at Revan again. She looked back at him over the rim of her glass, wondering what this was all about.

_So, they adopted me? Well, that's sweet. And then I had HK kill them all. Touching. Why?_

"I don't feel enlightened," she said finally, after a long silence. "But none of it matters now, does it? There is no Mandalore, not like there was."

"No," Canderous said heavily. "There is not. The age of the clans has passed."

_Thanks to me, I guess._

"There are some more pressing questions I have for you, Lin. Like why—not to mention how—you managed to be on Manaan turning the Sith Embassy into a cut-rate dueling ring."

_Not to mention set yourself up as the ringmaster._

"Ah," Oerin said. He shrugged. "The struggle for power was going on when I got there—but the Sith are so serious...it was really—quite dull. I managed to make it amusing."

Revan frowned at him, reaching out with the force. He seemed as contained as an egg. If she hadn't felt his strength in the ring before, she wouldn't know he was force sensitive at all.

_But they were afraid of him, and he is dangerous. Is he a danger to us? Canderous doesn't think so. Zaalbar seems unconcerned. And HK—well, he's locked in the utility rack and disarmed. Easier that way, until we land on Coruscant._

She pushed harder with the force, trying to see into Lin's mind. _Nothing._

"Hells, you have no control anymore, do you?" Oerin wrinkled his nose, as if she smelled bad. "I'm not sure what your plans are for Coruscant, Rev, but if you go in blazing like this you'll have the entire Council after us. Of course--that could be fun...I've never seen a Jedi Council before—how many are there exactly, that we would have to kill before the others accepted us as their true masters?"

"I was actually thinking of avoiding the Council," Revan admitted, not willing to confess how much appeal that image had. "We're going to Coruscant to rescue Carth, find Dustil, and kill Malak's father."

"Malak has a father?"

"People generally do," Revan said.

"Malak's father," Lin mused. "I guess that makes sense, leaving your enemies' family members alive is quite risky." Lin beamed at her and winked. "Who's Dustil?"

"Dustil is Carth's son. He's--somewhere on Coruscant."

Zaalbar had Mission looking into where--that was one of the messages he'd managed to transmit when they were on Manaan. Find Dustil, one boy in a city of billions. She couldn't even find _Carth. _They were blind on this ship.__

Canderous seemed lost in his own thoughts. She glanced at him for reassurance, but he was staring heavily in his glass as if there were answers hidden there. Revan frowned.

_We still need to outmaneuver Hulas as well. Never trust an assassin._

"What does this have to do with your plans for the galaxy, Lord Revan?" Oerin asked. There was a smirk on his face, as if he already knew the answer.

"It will help us leave it," she snapped. "That's all. If you're questioning my command Lin, I could kill you right now."

He laughed and took another sip of wine. "You could try," he offered.

"Oerin." Canderous said. That was all. That was all he needed to say. Suddenly the young man looked like a whipped dog. And it wasn't entirely an act.

"Why are you here, Lin?" Revan asked. "As the Mandalore shouldn't you be off gathering your people and rebuilding your empire? And you still haven't explained what you were doing with the Sith."

_He looks like a Sith._

_I'm no more Sith than you. _His voice rapped lightly on her mind like knocking on a door.

She slammed her barriers shut and had the satisfaction of seeing him wince.

"My people believe that a warrior needs to be blooded," Oerin shrugged, grinning at her again. "I'm here to see the galaxy. I don't care what you do Lord Revan, I'll help. It will prove interesting. Much more interesting than Manaan."

Revan glared at him. "Later, Canderous, we have to talk. _Alone." _She got up from the table taking another handful of jerky with her. She paused, and grabbed a bottle of wine too. "I'm going to help Zaalbar."

The old warrior was still glaring at Oerin as if he were a bug that fallen in his wineglass. "Of course," he said mildly. "I'll be out in a while."

XXX

Canderous watched her leave the room. Revan moved better, but she was still a shadow of the warrior she had been. Some wounds took long to heal, even the ones that no one could see. She was healing though, she always did. When he judged that she was out of earshot he turned back to the Fett's whelp.

"Which one of you did she marry?"

_Whoever it was I think she has no idea._

XXX

Grarwwaar lifted up his visor and looked admiringly at the ship. "You're a beauty," he told her, setting down his empty can of blue paint, and reaching for another to attach to the sprayer.

Mission watched him from the _Hawk's_ sensors. If ships could smile, she would be smiling. The part of her still in the forest was deep in a philosophical discussion with Freyyrr about plants—that was all the old chieftain wanted to talk about ever since she'd explained how Kashyyyk's forests had been made and not born—and she could easily tune it out. Mission could do lots of things easily, now—but some things eluded her. Another part of her consciousness scanned the nets, especially the Manaan and Coruscanti sectors for news of her friends. It was _really_ annoying, because she _knew_ what ships they'd left Manaan on. Carth had to have gone on the 920 _Republic Pearl. The_ _Girl from Hoth _was the little cruiser that Zaalbar had her scan from the Sith Embassy. But both ships seemed to be under strict broadcast silence now. With no news out, she had no way in. There _was_ something about the _Pearl_ stopping on one of those orbital recording studios—but the studio itself was also oddly reticent about giving any information.

Well, as Grif had told her once, sometimes you had to look for what wasn't there to find what was. She couldn't help Carth anyway—not yet—but she _had_ to get through to the _Hoth. _

Her friends were in danger. Zaalbar's story about a secret order of assassins being nice enough to give them a ride off Manaan was extremely sketch. Of course Zaal and Polla-Revan and Cand' knew that too—that was why they'd asked if she could patch into the Coruscanti landing grid and switch their docking coordinates before they even left Manaan. She was working on that now too—easy enough to retrieve the _Hoth's_ flight codes—but she had to get through to the _Hoth _itself to tell the ship. She would. It was only a matter of time, and at the speed the _Hoth _moved of she couldn't see them making it to Coruscant in less than three weeks. The _Pearl_ would get there sooner. As would Mission herself, if this paint ever finished drying....

"May I go with you on your journey, Mission-ghost?" Grarwwaar's voice was an earnest and respectful whine.

_And_ she still needed to find Dustil. The damn boy must be dead or just terminally dense. A part of her was almost upset about that—as much as she could be.

"Sorry—no passengers. Big Z's orders. You hairy guys are way too conspicuous."

The wookiee groaned his disappointment. Grarwwaar was one of the ones who'd been offworld. He was really handy to have around. He'd finished rewiring T-3 for mobility and a link to her systems. In a way, he'd given her legs again. Of course, they were short dumpy droid legs, but it was something. Droids were everywhere, and they did everything.

The wookiee looked at her soulfully with his big brown eyes. He seemed to know just where to look too, although her ship's sensors were hidden underneath a vast gleaming coat of blue paint. She could _see_ quite a lot and what she couldn't see, the sensors told her. Grarwwaar was really upset. Zaal used to look like that when he hadn't eaten in a few hours. Grarwwaar _was_ hungry, she could hear his stomach rumbling like a train of banthas.

"They're roasting some kinrath over in Loading Bay 3," Mission said politely.

One of the other wookiees—Werrrrorrr—hastily finished lettering the _Hawk's_ new name on the side of her hull. The 'T' in 'ghost' looked a little crooked, but that was ok. Task completed, Werrrrorrr took off at a run for the feast.

In the forest, Mission interrupted Freyyyr to remind him to take the platform back up. There were going to be speeches and songs, and he needed to be there.

News on Manaan was more of the same. She wished she could hack into the Sith Embassy cameras; but that darn computer was being obstinate. It was almost like it hadn't forgiven her for blowing it up, the time she'd been there in person. The Republic cameras didn't show her anything interesting. The Jedi were all locked in a room somewhere—a room with no cameras. Roland Wann was back at his desk typing a memo about kolto production. He hadn't done anything unusual since he'd shot Carth with that stunner and put him on the _Pearl_Mission continued to watch him closely. Poor Carth, how could he have been so dumb?

She ran another check on that Rodian, Big Z had asked her about: Hulas Nolastname. Nothing. Still, that wasn't surprising, ancient orders of assassins probably didn't use last names. Or real first ones. There were lots of Rodians registered as residents on Manaan though, and she cross-checked them for anything interesting, any patterns that fit. Of course, maybe he hadn't been born a Rodian at all—surgery was pretty easy to come by...and there were several talented clinics on Manaan. She crossed-checked those too, just to see.

Malak's father, Senator Malachi D'reev. Quite a bit on him—but the interesting stuff seemed to be tripwired. She was working on uncoding that without getting caught. She thought she'd get through pretty soon.

"Can I use your console to send a message?" Grarwwaar asked her humbly. He had to ask now—all communications between Kashyyyk and everywhere else were routed through her processors. They had to be careful—you couldn't have a bunch of wookiees jabbering about their new god the supercomputer on the nets. Not yet, she wasn't ready. Not yet. The thought made her giggle—or she would have—if she had a mouth.

"Sure," Mission offered. "You know the regs. No more than thirty seconds, and lowbeam. Will transmit on my approval." She lowered her landing ramp and Grarwwaar climbed inside.

Now, back to Dustil. He might be with a Mekel Jin, who was a Coruscanti native. Coruscanti level 47—that was practically like being from Taris's undercity. She remembered Mekel—he'd been kind of a prick. But if they were on 47 or lower it was no wonder she couldn't trace them. They didn't have nets down there. Coruscant was supposed to be this great city where everyone was equal and everything—but a lot of those everyones were almost off the grids. _Worse_ than the Taris--more like the undercity sewers, really.

Something rang her sensors. A trigger was hit. A name—_Hulas. _Message transmitted from inside the _Blue Ghost's_ comm. center. Mission's boarding ramp clanged shut and the comm. doors hissed closed. The message was very short.

_Hulas, stuck on Kashyyyk. Pie. 34820. R. P._

Grarwwaar had jumped when the doors closed but now he just stood there. She maneuvered T-3 over to him, stun ray ready. Perhaps it might have been more intimidating if the little droid's carapace wasn't covered with a flowery wreath, but she had two good sith pistols ready, leveled at the wookiee's head.

"Talk," she said loudly through the ship's speaker system. Mission's banks had copies of Polla-Revan's voice stored and she used one of those. No one could make one word sound as scary. Nobody—not even Calo Nord.

Grarwwaar spread his hands, trying to look helpless. He'd be better at that if he wasn't three meters tall and covered in hair—not to mention armed with the disrupter rifle she'd given him for helping with the paint job. "Talk," Mission repeated. "That name. Talk fast."

"Name?" He growled back at her in fake confusion. "What name?"

"Hulas. What's your business with Hulas?"

His voice sounded slightly incredulous. "You know Hulas?"

"My boss ran some errands for him."

"I see." Grarwwaar carefully bent down and placed the disrupter on the floor. "What kind of errands?"

"Genoharadan ones. Revan didn't really tell me the details. Looking back...I think that Gamorrean on Tatooine must have been one. We tracked him for half a day and she made me promise not to tell Bastila or Carth. He was nasty too."

"Ah," the wookiee said. Mission wasn't sure she'd ever heard a wookiee say "ah" before. "The Gamorrean had a droid with him?"

"Yes, a really big one."

"I see," he repeated. "Is Revan still working for Hulas, do you know?"

"I don't think that's any of your business."

"Well, it might be. Hulas is my—associate—you might say. But we seem to have had a falling out. He's not the most trustworthy...member...of our order. But—you are looking for him for some reason? Why?"

Mission considered what to say.

"Are you telling me a wookiee on Kashyyyk is part of some ancient order of assassins? Geez, I may have been a fourteen year old girl once—but I was never completely stupid!"

Carefully, she waited for his response.

"Perhaps we can help each other," Grarwwaar said. "You see I'm not really a wookiee."

"Big surprise," Mission muttered. If she'd had eyes she would have rolled them.

The wookiee's image shimmered and shifted, shrinking down and changing into a blue-skinned twi'lek girl. He didn't really have the face right, but it wasn't a bad likeness. Processors whirling, Mission began to formulate a new plan.

"Impressive," she said, in Revan's laconic drawl. "And yet, my records show that the last shape shifting species in the galaxy died out five hundred standard years ago."

"As a race, yes," the shapeshifter said. "But we live a long time. I'm one of the last." His voice was a perfect mimic of Mission's. He—or now she—beamed at the ship. "Let's start over? My name is Rulan Prolik and I'm a member of the Genoharadan, a noble order of assassins. We could help each other, you and I."

"You going to send another message to Hulas now or what?" Mission said in her own best bored-now voice.

"With your permission." The Twi'lek bowed at T-3 in a long sweeping gesture. He—she—whatever—_Rulan--_went back to the console and typed in a few words.

_Hulas, Cake. 85730. R.P._

"I guess I'll just have to assume that said, 'go away, don't come to Kashyyyk?'"

"Trust has to begin somewhere," the shapeshifter replied. "I could give you my codes, but how would you know I was telling the truth?"

"If I let you come, there's a certain—insurance—that I'll need to impose," Mission said.

Rulan twisted a lekku at her in a sign of inquiry. "What did you have in mind?"

"Slaver's collar. One of the fancy ones with surveillance and a small explosive. Czerka left a few lying around."

Rulan shrugged. "It's not in my interest to betray you. As long as you also have no issues with me completing a few assignments on my own...I'll help you with whatever you require. You're going to Coruscant, are you not? I can be useful there. No charge of course, after all, I'll owe you for the ride."

"I'll have to monitor you."

"But of course."

"Ok," Mission said. Actually, this wasn't a bad thing at all. There were some things she needed to pick up on Coruscant for her fledgling world anyway. Another pair of legs would be very useful. An ancient order of assassins could be useful too. Mission added Genoharadan to her list of things to check into. Knowledge is, after all, power. If you looked at things the right way—between the gaps—there was a surprising amount of stuff you could find.

XXX

(scene 1, take 1)

The woman knelt, head bent, her topknot spilling over her eyes like a black waterfall. Underneath the curtain of her hair those eyes were huge and green and shocked. Every line of her body was trembling with the effort of keeping her emotions in check, keeping grief, despair, and loss at bay.

The carth wouldn't look at her. He had his eyes closed, and his voice was a hoarse whisper. There was a blaster in his hand, and his other hand was clenched tightly around the one still at his belt.

"The whole time we've been chasing after Malak we've had his old Sith Master right at our side; listening to our secrets; hearing our plans!" His voice choked. "How are we supposed to know that you won't betray us? How are we supposed to know you're not going to become Revan again?"

A tear fell from a wide green eye. She reached up and took his hand, guiding it. The cold metal nozzle of the gun was a hard circle on her forehead.

"Go ahead, Carth. Shoot me. I know it's what you want. It's what I deserve," she said in an anguished voice. She looked up at him, letting the gun trail lightly down the curve of her cheek. He tried to pull his hand away, but she held it fast. His eyes opened and he looked down at her, face twisting in an expression of shame and loss. And anger.

_Wow, he's really good._

"I can't kill you," he choked. "You're the only one who can find the Star Forge and stop Malak. I can't kill you--yet." His jaw worked with the effort of saying the words. His hand tightened under hers, still holding the gun to her head.

"I want you to promise me, Carth," she said slowly, enunciating each word so that it would fall like a bell—because that's how Revan talked

_"Did you know, I actually met her once?"_

_"Yes," the producer had said, " we've seen your work. You were very good in the Telosian version. And your improvisation in 'Revan's Private Lessons at the Jedi Academy' was superb. You're a true artiste. But this carth is really something special. Don't break character with him—he takes his work very very seriously."_

"I want you to promise me—" she let the words pour out in a rush now, she could almost hear the soundtrack they'd lay in later in her head—_something slow and sad, majestic, mournful_—"Promise me that if I fall to the dark side again you'll put this blaster to my head and pull the trigger."

His breath caught in a ragged sob and his hand fell to his side. "I can't," he whispered. "I can't let you die, Polla—I can't stand to see someone I love die. Not again. No matter what you've done, I love you."

"You're the only one I trust_,"--shade the voice with a hint of entreaty--_ "to make sure that the Jedi never bring me back again."

_"No,"_ the carth said flatly. The blaster clattered to the floor. He turned away from her and faced the bridge of the _Ebon Hawk._ His hands ran over the mock controls. "No," he said again. "This isn't real, none of this is real. You're not really here, we never had this conversation. You're not—you can't be—you. I said I'd be right back....right back..."

The door hissed open, and the producer came in, followed by a few actors dressed like Republic diplomatic corps. Rahasia wasn't sure how they were going to work into the plot, but then again, this _was_ improv. The only direction they'd given her was to point the gun at her own head and ask him to kill her. She thought she'd done quite well for a first run. She got to her feet and smiled at them.

The producer looked irritated. She was a tall skinny woman with a long nose and big teeth. Annoyed, she looked even uglier than usual. "Get him set up again," she said to one of the actors that accompanied her. "We'll keep trying this until he gets it right."

"How was I?" Rahasia asked. She flicked the switch at her neck and let the Revan holofield drop. The holofield was a really good one, one of the best that she'd ever seen.

The woman laughed. "You were good dear. _Very_ good. You don't need me to tell you that." Firmly, she took Rahasia's arm and led her out of the room. "Take a break now, we shoot again in thirty minutes."

Rahasia glanced back at the carth. He was surrounded by the other actors now and swaying a little on his feet. They seemed to be injecting him with some kind of stim. She didn't really approve of that end of the business—the dark side, some said, of the holovid world—but she had to admit, he was really really good at what he did.__

XXX

"Marry?" Oerin took a gulp of wine, trying—and failing—to hide the revulsion in his expression. "You think someone in Clan Lin would marry an offworlder?"

"Your father did," Canderous said dryly. The pup was annoying, but he owed him some degree of allegiance. If Lin ever managed to be blooded in all three of the honorable ways of battle, he'd owe him more than that.

Oerin scowled. "That was different."

"Ah," Canderous said, waiting for the boy to spill the rest. He was impatient to get to the bottom of this and he didn't wait very long. "So? Who was it? You'd have been too young. One of your brothers? Your father?"

"No. She didn't marry any of us. Rev was adopted by the women's council. The old ways. _You know..._" The boy looked uncomfortable. As well he should. Those things were not spoken of. Not even when men were alone.

Lin's words gave Canderous pause. He took a deep breath, feeling his joints creak and felt an inexplicable sadness. _She has no idea. _He stared at Lin, waiting to hear the rest.

"She was carrying it when she came to us!" the boy said angrily. "It wasn't one of ours!"

"The babe lived?" He spoke quietly, afraid that she'd hear them somehow with that prenatural force sense of hers. _She has no idea,_ he thought again. The thought made him angry. But not at Lin.

_The Republic calls **us** barbarous. They hid their forces among civilians; they took away a woman's memory of her child. What was it he and Onasi had agreed upon again? Walk away, just walk away. _Canderous gritted his teeth. That wasn't going to be easy to do. _Especially with the pilot gone. I hope we can get him back; he's the only one that can handle her._

Suddenly the plans he and Carth had made all seemed like a fool's game. Canderous felt very old and tired.

"It lived--a son. Her mate was there when it was born. All the proper rituals were performed..." Oerin sounded uncomfortable. "Father married them; the babe was blessed with sand, air and stars. Then they left. I didn't see her again." He shrugged. "Perhaps the babe died after that, I never heard mention of it in the wars."

"That's possible," Canderous admitted. He stared at the wine in his glass and wondered how he would tell her. He had to tell her. Children, even dead ones, were important. _To have no memory of that..._his hand tightened on the glass and it shattered. Oerin looked startled.

"I'd assume it died," the boy said quickly. "Otherwise she'd mention it, wouldn't she?"

Canderous looked at him and sighed. _I have to tell her._

_Frankly, taking on the entire Jedi Council would be easier. And they deserve it._

XXX

"Dusty!" The idiot was watching the holovid screen above the bar with his jaw hanging open, tray of drinks forgotten and sliding dangerously in his loose hand. If it hadn't been for the magnetized surface of the tray they would have fallen already. "Lusha doesn't pay us to stand here. Get those drinks over to table twenty, now!" Mekel nudged the younger boy with his elbow, nodding and smiling at the bartender who was putting his own order on a tray at the same time.

"Mekel—" Dustil's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

_Call me Mekk! _"You idiot, what's wrong with you?"

Around them the smoky din of Lusha's cantina continued on its merry pace. Here in Rat's Alley they were just two more young boys, down on their luck, dressed in strips of black silksynth. _It was the perfect place to get lost. The perfect place to make some credits and get offworld. If Dustil could stop from screwing it all up..._Mekel nudged him, with his free hand.

Dustil shrugged him off, barely noticing. "Mekk—look at the screen."

Mekel looked. A battle was taking place against a backdrop of stars. Sith ships, it looked like—the design was unmistakable. Squadrons of small fighters whirled and there was a pulse of energy cannon. As they watched, one of the ships shattered into a million pieces of dust. The others moved flanking each other like birds on a wing....then one of them turned and fired on another. The little fighters swarmed like angry bees. Suddenly the transmission fizzled and cut out.

"Dusty, it's just a vid. Come on."

"No, they'll show it again, this is the news band. Wait."

An announcer's face filled the screen. A bland Eosian face, almost human except for the ridges of cartilage around the eyes and mouth_. "These images were taken by an observation drone near the Eosian system on the Outer Rim earlier today. This is the remnants of the Sith armada, and again, we think their activity has something to do with the following transmission. For months now, we've been reporting to you about the Sith on Manaan, and the strange rash of Revan and Malak pretenders. Now, it appears that one has arisen and claimed her throne."_

A square box appeared on the screen, and a woman's face filled it. An almost familiar face—but changed.

_"This is Darth Revan, I have returned. Please follow the instructions and wait for my further commands."_

The woman's face was cadaverous, gray-white skin pulled so tight on her bones that you could see the shape of her skull. Her hair was a close-cropped cap of red fire. Her eyes were outlined by an intricate pattern of black lines, and those eyes were yellow and burning. Her mouth was set in a grim line.

The image flickered and vanished, and the announcer's face replaced it. "_What commands could this Revan pretender give? Could this be a new threat to the Republic? In the last few hours since our observer camera was destroyed, reports indicate three of the nine ships were destroyed. The rest have gone into hyperspace, their destination..." The announcer's voice dropped. "...unknown. At this time, we have been unable to break the codes on the orders that were transmitted from the Sith base on Manaan, and the embassy itself has been ominously silent. But there are rumors._

_Joining us now, Tam Kar, our reporter on Manaan. Speculation runs rampant, but some wonder, what if this isn't a pretender at all. What if Revan Starfire herself has returned? Returned to her former self? What if the hero of the galaxy is no hero at all; but the Dark Lord reborn?"_

Mekel's mouth was dry. He set his drink tray down on the bar, forgotten. "She's alive," he muttered. "We knew that—we felt it three days ago. But that—that can't be her."

"It is," Dustil said quietly. "You know it's her as much as I do."

Mekel swallowed. "She—she's changed."

XXX

"Why didn't you just let him kill me?"

"No one deserves to die like that," she said, emptily. "_Nobody."_ Polla Organa's face was sad and sickeningly kind in the flickering light of the tombs. It was as if the cold arrogance she'd worn in the Academy for the last month was only a mask. And this was her real face—not a Sith face at all. Except that—except that façade didn't add up either. Because now her face was perfectly blank and cold. The shift had been so sudden he'd almost missed it. She looked at him, measuring, as if she was trying to decide something.

_Whether I live or die._

"Who _are_ you?" Mekel asked, backing slowly away.

She'd mockingly answered Uln's questions with the wrong answers—not that the right ones made any difference. Mekel had learned _that_—rather painfully--before her arrival. And the one time Polla had answered that nutcase correctly—_strike at my enemies—_her face had watched Mekel writhe under the lightning with something like abstract fascination.

Mekel barely had the strength to free them and she'd been half dead from the punishments she'd endured—but then, while Uln attacked him, Polla rose and sucked the power she needed straight from the madman's bones. When Uln turned on her, every force lash he gave her seemed to give her more strength. The Sith codes talked about such things, but Mekel had never actually seen them—not like this.

"Who _are_ you?" Mekel repeated.

Polla didn't answer. She was crouching at the side of her fallen companion, jabbing a kolto pack into side. The man didn't look good. Jorak Uln had blasted them all with the force, and the man was only a man—no force sense in him at all. She'd borne the brunt of it—but there were no marks on her now--only a few singed patches on her robe. Behind her, the metal eyes of her droid tracked Mekel's progress like lasers, its rifle shifting to keep him in target range as he moved away. He almost tripped over something—it was Jorak's body—barely recognizable as such now—twisted and turned almost inside out. Mekel's stomach twisted, looking at it. He'd seen death before--he'd caused death before—but in all of his seventeen years he'd never seen anything like this.

_Nobody deserves to die like this, nobody, _he echoed. For a strange blurred minute he didn't know if they were her thoughts or his own.

"Get out of here, Mekel." She was kneeling over the man now, whispering something. He felt the force build around her, a white-hot pulse of power like a small sun and every nerve in his body screamed at him to run away.

But he couldn't move.

She raised her hands, gathering the force, and he realized with a shock what she meant to do. He could feel her intentions as clearly as if she was screaming them in his mind. She was going to heal the man—but—_doesn't she know?--_her power wasn't—the healing kind.

"Don't—" he whispered a warning even as the first waves of red energy, dark energy, shot from her fingertips and into her slave's—no—_her lover's_—side. The man convulsed in new agony and with a strange fascination Mekel could feel that too.

She cut off the force as abruptly as if she'd severed it with a knife, staring at her hands in shock. "No," she said. "No!" Her voice echoed across the chamber. In desperation she tore open kolto packets as if they were worthless paper, plugging theminto the fallen man, one after the other. She was muttering to herself, like a madwoman, "It was just a little cut that I couldn't heal and then the wound festered and I tried I tried and I couldn't and then I knew I couldn't—stay—that I wasn't safe. Not anymore, not for that life damnit, why did you follow me? Why did you follow me, Mal?"

But her slave—_no, her lover's_--name was Carth.__

"Who are you?" Mekel said again.

She looked back at him—startled--like a woman waking from a dream. "I told you who I was," she said, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. Her voice was brittle, but oddly rational. "I told you twice. At the Academy gates, and then later in your rooms. You laughed at me. Go away, Mekel. Leave this place. Leave this planet. I'll bring death here. It's what I do."

"Revan!" A voice from the doorway, a slim figure wearing an ill-fitting black robe, the Academy medallion hung almost too conspicuously around her neck. _That's odd, there are no Cathar students at the Academy,_ Mekel thought, even as the impact of what the woman had called Polla hit home.

_I told you who I was. I told you twice._

_What if I said I was the Dark Lord of the Sith?_

_You're considerably more attractive than Darth Malak is reputed to be._

_Malak...her lip twisted in scorn and her eyes flashed. I'm Darth Revan, you ignorant child. Her cruel green eyes dared him to doubt it, and he burst into a peal of laughter. She'd laughed too and walked away. It had all been an absurd stupid joke._

_But a joke on who?_

Mekel coughed. "I-I'm going now," he said nervously, edging away. The droid was still following him, gliding with silent precision. Its red eyes glittered with a terrible fascination. It stepped through the remains of Jorak Uln and he could have sworn it sighed happily.

The Cathar ignored everything, kneeling at the injured man's side, waves of calm blue healing light emanating from her fingertips. "He'll be fine, Revan," she said quietly. "I heard you cry out from outside. The others are coming too. He'll be fine."

"Polla," the man murmured, weakly, trying to lift up his head.

"I-I'm here, Carth."

"Master: the secondary target is attempting to escape. Do you wish to have me constrain him for interrogation or shall I attempt to eviscerate his bowels as cleverly as you have done with the primary? I would welcome the challenge."

"Let him go, HK. No blasting, no eviscerations." Revan said. Her voice sounded flat and exhausted. "We're running low on kolto," she said, "frack this to bloody hell, I don't know how much longer I can stand it here—I—if I didn't know who I was still maybe...but this place...Juhani, this place is like a bad dream...I was here before..."

"Pull yourself together!" The Cathar's voice was harsh. "There were Sith long before you were born and there will be Sith long after you're dead. This isn't all your fault, Revan."

"Oh, isn't it," Revan said bitterly. She looked at Mekel again, meeting his eyes with a cold green stare. "_Get out," _she said. _"Leave. Leave this place, leave this planet. Now."_

Mekel ran.

_XXX_

He was halfway through Dreshdae before her force compulsion eased, but Mekel didn't stop running. A Czerka freighter bound for Coruscant had open berths, and he took one, not even wondering that the fee had already been paid. The captain told him that some little Twi'lek girl was offering free tickets off this rock to any Sith that wanted to leave it and he didn't even blink. He sat on the cold dormitory bunk for three days, hardly surprised when the others showed up. Two days after lift-off they found Dustil locked in a supply closet, surrounded by food wrappers and empty caffa bulbs. It was a long long time before Dustil told Mekel the story of his own redemption—if that's what it had been—and still longer before the two boys trusted each other. Rivalry is a hard thing to get over, once you've seen the Sith version. But subsequent events threw them together.

Dustil was the only one from Korriban who never seemed to mind that Mekel didn't like to talk about what had happened there. Dustil didn't talk either. The others did nothing _but_ talk, and their former teacher was the worst. Revan this, Revan that. Saint Revan, the redeemed. Spread the word across the galaxy with that stupid lying vid.

_Go to hell, Yuthura Ban,_ Mekel thought bitterly. _How do you like your Saint Revan now?_

"I don't pay you boys to watch the holo," the molting Fosh bartender snapped. A feathered arm swatted Dustil playfully on the shoulder. "Customers. Need drinks. Now."

Mekel hastily picked up his own tray, trying to make sense of his thoughts. Dustil barely noticed, he hadn't budged.

_"This is Tam Kar, and I'm standing in front of the Sith Embassy." The reporter's head tails twitched excitedly, and the camera panned out. Other news vids were being broadcast simultaneously: Bothian, Durian, human, Selkath and Rodian newscasters jabbered in a cacophony of tongues.. "Reports are sketchy, but for the last three days, the complex has been sealed from within. There are reports of explosions. Is this connected to the Sith struggle for the skies above Eos? Stay tuned here for the latest-breaking news."_

"Dusty!"Mekel tried to distract his friend again, with a sinking feeling. _Here we go again, another job lost._

"I quit," Dustil said to the bartender suddenly, turning away from the vid. He looked down at his brief costume in disgust. "I'd rather roll pervs in the Alley than deal with the filth in this place."

"There's your contract," the Fosh croaked, clacking its beak. "Can't let you out of it that easily. Lusha would be displeased."

"I think you can," the Telosian boy said. Dustil's fingers moved a little, a quick flick of his hand. He was really good at that. For a moment, Mekel felt a stab of envy. Then—relief.

_This place _was_ the ass-end of hell. Here we go again._

Behind them, customers were calling for their drinks. "I'll tear up your contracts," the bartender agreed.

Mekel nudged his friend in the shoulders. _Week's wages, if you can. Maybe two._

"And you'll pay us two week's wages," Dustil said, a faint smile on his face now. "Each. For our pain and suffering."

"I'll pay you..." the Fosh fumbled with the credit cache under the bar. His eyes were glazed over, and he handed Dustil a large wad of cash.

_Now we leave fast. We're attracting attention._

_Yes. _Dustil's thought was clipped and cold. He stuffed the money hastily down the side of his leggings. Mekel took his friend's arm and they walked out of the cantina. Another humid night in the sub-city, level 53. The two boys slipped through the Rat's Alley, stepping over a few passed out drunks that looked picked clean, avoiding a few tricks that looked like CoruSec unders; and disappeared into the shadows. Two boys in a billion, lost in the Coruscant underground.

XXX

_Tim Radley _

Your Yuthura is inspiration for all Yuthuras everywhere, I think. There's more in store for Yuthura, who is after all, now trapped in the Sith Embassy. But not yet in this chapter, although her name does come up.

_Winterfox___

Am working on the beta thing, and trying to be a little more precise with my own proofing. I actually edited all of the existing chapters this week but some of the edits seem to have vanished from the site. My file copies are at work (which is of course the best place to edit :P) and I'll see if I can get them back up. Thanks for your kind words too J

_xenzen___

Doh! Okay, Baragwin—I can see how I missed that one, but I misspelled wookiee? Gah, will try to be better (see above.)

Re: Canderous kneeling—I thought about that for at least one entire subway ride this week. I think he'd kneel—although I'm not he'd kneel while they were in the middle of a star forge about to be blown up...so perhaps we both have a point. I think of Mandalorian culture as being sorta like Jaran (Kate Elliot). You kneel to your ruler, just perhaps to no one else.

Re: Carth development: I'm working on that. Regarding his military background, I confess my ignorance about such things, much like chess, good and evil, and the names of Star Wars planets. You are right, however, his training should show in some of his reactions—and I will work on developing that. Thanks for pointing it out. I'm glad you did. Carth accepting Revan...well Carth is a hero. My own pet theory is that Carth is the only "hero" in KoTR. Heroes, while they are often brave and loyal, also have their flaws. That can make them interesting.

_ether-fanfic___

Glad you liked the line J I wondered if it was a bit much, but it made me laugh too.

_Prisoner_

Thank you thank you for the timeline link. I haven't referred to it much yet, but it will help a ton in the chapters to follow, and I don't think I could have attempted to write the Bastila/Revan/Malak flashback without it.__


	9. The Official Coruscanti Version or, Bloo...

**Disclaimer,** see previous

Although this starts out light, (err, "light-er), it's not a happy chapter. Really not a happy chapter. Omelets and eggs.

Author's notes at end...and thanks to Eric Bogle (although I admit I thought it was the Pogues...) Obviously, I don't own this song either.

And if you can guess the name of the babe you get imaginary cookies. (or real ones, in fanfic terms if you prefer). It's all in the names, although there isn't really much of a hint in this chapter. There are hints in previous.

XXX

**Chapter 9 The Official Coruscanti Version—or, Blood and Sand**

_Polla Organa_

Sure it all seemed romantic when Seiran proposed in a field of blooming ferra grass, surrounded by wild hessi. The sun shone red in the pale blue sky, and the first of the monsoon winds were only a soft whisper. But it must have been that fracking head injury, because Polla said yes.

_Yes I will. Yes I will marry you. Yes, yes, yes._

Now, her ankles were swollen, their beautiful little eridu fiber farm was a sea of mud and the damn vid was on the fritz. And where was he, her brave bold swoop race champion? Off on some mechanic's gig on the other side of the Derran continent. Half the threshers were broken too and really, a woman in her condition shouldn't be expected to get up and deal with that. Not when it was pouring rain. Hah—their eridu farm_...more like their mud farm—now...._

Polla Wen took another bite of thisla and clapped her hands at the vid player.

"Stop it!"

The picture stabilized—for now. She wasn't sure why she kept watching this thing. Ma said there was no use getting upset about things you couldn't fix, and Da muttered something about finding a good arbiter—but he wasn't serious. He didn't want any trouble, none of them did. Her cousins were sworn to secrecy, but half the damn town knew anyways. It was hard to keep secrets on Deralia; there just wasn't enough to _do _otherwise. Gossip and farming. It was all they had.

The particle screen was fuzzy, but it played the part she watched over and over again, when she was alone.

_After Malak's attack, the Dark Lord Revan was saved by the strength of the Jedi Council and one brave young Knight, Bastila Shan, who held the fate of all sentients in her hands._

The music again, numbingly awe-inspiring: Dum Dum Dee Dum Dum. Polla made a face. The words scrolled across the screen.

_The Jedi believe in mercy, but Revan's mind was as shattered as her body.... _

An image of a ravaged figure floating in a bacta tank. The first time she saw it, Polla had winced. Now she just tapped her fingers along with the music, cursing a little under her breath.

_How to redeem someone who has fallen so far? How to save the woman who was once a shining star of light and then fell to become the devourer of worlds? The Council, and young Bastila Shan, a Knight of the Jedi Order, healed Revan's body, but they could not heal her soul._

The woman was screaming and writhing soundlessly in the tank. Her dark-haired nurse-- who was no nurse at all--flinched back, but her face had a stubborn look of determined serenity.

Polla's hand curved over the bulge of her stomach and she shifted her weight, pulling her legs across the couch with an indelicate grunt.

_Revan Starfire had no mind left, and yet, the Council in their wisdom knew two things._

_One: that all creatures have the potential for great good. Two: that the only way to stop Malak was locked somewhere in Revan's crippled mind. Using the link that Bastila Shan courageously made with the Dark Lord of the Sith, the Jedi remade her and gave her a new life._

_But who was this woman they created? Who was Polla Organa?_

The music played again, sad and melancholy.

"Polla Organa was no one," said Polla Organa Wen, making a face. A millisecond later the vid echoed.

_Polla Organa was no one. _

_Polla Organa was a construct, the perfect blank slate. Supposedly born on Deralia, a remote world on the reaches of the Outer Rim untouched by the ravages of war; she was an amalgamation of personalities. The Jedi instilled her with a strong sense of morality; technical knowledge that complimented Revan's own; and basic training in weapons and strategy._

Polla Organa Wen picked up the little knife she'd been using to peel the thisla from the table and threw it at the wall. It spun in a curling circle and sunk in to the hilt.

"_Basic_ training," she muttered. It was an insult really, when you thought about it.

XXX

_Look at it this way, her husband said. You always wanted to go to exotic places and have adventures. In a way, it's sort of like you did. _

_It's a good thing Polla Organa is such a common name, Auntie Mita said, ever practical. No one ever has to know. Why, if they did, there'd be reporters swarming all over you._

_Yeah, Polla muttered. Then I'd be famous._

_Of course then Auntie Mita had gone and told her grange club—that is to say half the town—the truth._

_XXX_

"Forward," Polla said to the vid.

The images blurred in a whir of static. Constellations of stars on the other side of the Rim, stars she'd never seen. Stars that she would never see, now. Farmer's wives didn't travel. There were always crops to plant and harvest and never enough credits. And, soon enough, there'd be the kid too. It wasn't that she wasn't happy about it—or that she didn't love him already—but this wasn't what she had planned for her life. Not by a long shot.

The stars whirled and dissolved into a blue planet—"Stop," she said.

XXX

_Taris._The narrator murmured sadly.

XXX

_(Scene 1, take 20) Rahasia_

"You told me once that you wanted to put a blaster to Revan's head. Well, now's your chance."

Rahasia's lip curled. She loomed over the carth. He sat in the captain's chair, staring at the ground. Staring anywhere but at her. She spat out the words with a rage that wasn't altogether feigned. Improv was a challenge, but doing the same scene over and over again? The last nine takes had been absolute perfection. The carth was an artist, and she thought her own work was perfectly up to the task. So why did they have to do this again?

_"Try getting angry at him," the producer had said. "Let's see how that plays."_

Golden brown eyes looked up at her. Dead eyes Rahasia shivered. She hoped the remotes were getting all of this. The nuance in his face was incredible. The carth spoke, his voice rough as the stubble on his cheeks. "Is that what you want me to do, Revan?"

Rahasia trembled. "No," she whispered and dropped to her knees. She put her head in his lap and felt his hands, shaking a little, brush her head. The cold metal of the blaster pressed her cheek, then slipped past and dropped to the ground. She looked up at him, eyes swimming with tears. It wasn't hard to cry on command. All she had to do was think about Dantooine and that terrible day.

_Sith air strikes took out the few planetary defenses. The Sandral farm, so close to the Jedi compound, was destroyed in the same bombardment. She and Shen had been exploring the old caves when they'd heard the explosions. By the time they got outside, everything was gone. The world they'd known was a plain of smoking craters and debris. They ran to the safety of the Jedi compound. But there was no safety. They cowered behind a broken wall and watched as the sith ground troops herded up the survivors, separating them into two groups: civilians and Jedi. _Don't look,_ Shen said to her, and she buried her face in his chest, sobbing soundlessly, praying that they'd get out of this—somehow._

_Shen was so strong that day, she would have fallen apart without him. It was only afterwards that he'd fallen apart too. _

Rahasia buried her face in the carth's chest, great heaving sobs and felt his hands, gentle calloused hands, on her shoulders as he pulled her up and kissed her lips softly. "I won't let anything happen to you, Polla," he whispered.

Rahasia kissed him back automatically. Improv was improv after all, and she'd wondered when they'd get down to the basics.

"Cut!" The producer said from over the loudspeaker. "End scene." The doors hissed open and the crew streamed in again. Rahasia pulled away from the carth—he really was gripping her hard—smiling at him. "You're really good," she said. Her eyes were still wet from her tears.

He just looked at her. "Revan?" He was really out of it.

_Well, they told you this carth never breaks character, didn't they? Might as well play along._

"I'll be right back," Rahasia said.

_At this rate, we'll never get past the escape from the Leviathan._

"Right...back," the carth echoed. Hands separated them, and she got to her feet and walked away.

"Fifteen minutes until the next fugue," one of the actors said.

"Fifteen, then—check."

Producer Silvana met her at the door. "You have fifteen minutes, Rahasia. Then we go again."

Rahasia nodded. "How was I?"

"You were very good, but we've been discussing some changes we want to make in the dialogue...."

XXX

_Polla Organa_

_Taris,_ the narrator said sadly. _Just another planet to fall to the Sith. Another planet to burn under Sith occupation and then shatter under Sith bombardment. Just another planet in a string of Malak's atrocities. Atrocities that began with Endar, Yu-Phaedra and Telos. But Taris was different. It is said that Darth Malak bombed Taris to rid the world of one woman—Bastila Shan. But unbeknownst to him at the time, Taris was also the current residence of his former Master and his worst enemy. In one of the Republic's finest moments, Revan Starfire saved Bastila Shan and a few others from certain death. There are few survivors and fewer images —but here are a few of the stories. Stories from simple people whose lives Revan Starfire changed irretrievably for the better — despite the great tragedy that followed._

Polla Wen threw a thisla shell at the vid. The baby kicked sharply inside her belly and she winced. "Damnit," she said. She wanted to see the woman's face again. Her own expressions on a stranger's face. Sometimes she thought she imagined the physical resemblance. They were about the same height, and Revan wore her hair in the traditional Deralian topknot, but that was about it. She watched the blurry vid stills and a few sequences of a duel and a really bad swoop race. How had she even won? It made Polla laugh to watch.

She forwarded through the parts about the others. Interviews from the twi'lek girl's brother; a few fighter pilots that served with Onasi in the war; a xenososh explaining the particulars of a wookiee life-debt....boring, _boring_. Helena Shan's face, talking about her daughter made her pause—it always did. She'd thought her nurse Bastila was her friend.

_My daughter left to serve the Jedi at such a young age, _Helena Shan said steadily. _I suppose I never knew the woman she'd become._

XXX

_"My mother?"__ Bastila asked her, laughing incredulously. "You want to know about my mother? Well, she wasn't much like yours." The nurse took another bite of the homemade thisla pie Molla Organa had brought up the day before._

_Polla shrugged, which made her shoulders hurt. She'd broken one of them in the fall, and it didn't seem mended yet. At least they'd let her out of the damn tank. And her head hurt. Putting her memories into a holocron had been an oddly draining experience_.

_"Family is what it is," she said, dismissively. "But as a medic in the Republic fleet you must have seen everything. Tell me about it?" Polla grinned._

_Bastila had the best stories. You'd think as a smuggler you'd get to see the galaxy but that wasn't really true at all. As a smuggler you ran routes over and over again, because you were dependable. It paled quickly. Her nurse had been to Coruscant! Polla always wanted to go there._

XXX

_Kashyyyk, the present_

The _Blue Ghost_ left Kashyyyk garlanded with leaves and flowers, which burned away on lift off in a colorful shower of sparks. Her ion trail streamed across the blue sky.

The Wookiees sang the song of departure, and the song of the hunt. Their voices echoed through the trees. The part of Mission still on the planet gave a long speech over the Czerka loudspeakers. The particulars would eventually become important; but at the moment they were just pretty words.

Mission had most things figured out now, except for D'Reev and Dustil. Why couldn't that idiot nerf-herder look at a computer terminal? You'd think he didn't remember. And Malachi D'Reev...the amount of ice that man had around his life was just...scary. Finally she'd given up and looked around what she could see.

XXX

_Canderous Ordo_

When he finished interrogating Lin—and realized with a sinking feeling that the whelp didn't know much--Canderous went to see Revan.

_I have to tell her._

Revan sat beside Zaalbar on the floor next to the console, combing out his fur. They were talking together softly in Shryywook. From the looks of things they hadn't had any luck with the comm links—pieces of circuitry and databoards were all over the floor. The Wookiee ate and gesticulated with his huge paws. Those paws could tear a man's head off when raised in anger.

Canderous remembered taking the wookiee's measure on Taris—and then again on that bloody beach near the end. He wasn't sure he could best Zaalbar in a fight, but it would be a challenge to try. Of course the beast was as worthy a companion as he would be an enemy. The two of them had come to an understanding of sorts in the last few months, even if he couldn't understand anything the hairball said. What he'd learned about Wookiee culture from their time on Kashyyyk intrigued him. Mandalorians had been like that once—long ago in their histories. A race of hunters and gatherers, who understood the points of honorable challenge.

_You have to tell her. _His thoughts swung him back to the present—and to Revan.

_Nine hells if only the pilot was here._ Republic knew how to handle her. Onasi would tell her with soft words and kisses--that peculiar devotion that was both like and unlike a man's loyalty to clan and empire. Onasi could have told her and she'd cry, perhaps.

Canderous wasn't sure what she would do when _he_ gave her the news. His own wives would have just sworn blood price and gone and taken it from the Council's hides—or died bravely in the attempt. That would be the right thing to do--at least as he used to think. Now, the Mandalorian wasn't sure. The pilot had said they should walk away, all of them, just walk away. The Wookiee agreed—and Canderous felt very old and tired. The clans were scattered. His wives—if they still lived—wouldn't take back a scarred old veteran who hadn't even managed to die honorably.

_Things are much simpler on the point of a blade._

"Revan," he said and she turned to him. There was an actual smile on her face, one of the first he'd seen in a long time, her hands still caught in the Wookiee's shaggy coat.

"Yes?" she asked, smiling up at him.

"Combat practice. We need to get you ready. And—we can talk," Canderous added. It would be easier to tell her with a blade in his hand. He felt more comfortable that way. It was something he understood.

"I'd like that." Revan got to her feet. She looked better now. She fought as fiercely as one of his own—even before he'd known why that was, he'd admired it. She kicked the broken pieces of circuitry into a corner, clearing space on the floor. He'd left Lin in the dining room with his own chess pad. The pup would be busy for a time.

"Zaalbar—if you could...leave?"

The wookiee growled something questioning at him and Revan laughed. "No," she said, raising her eyebrows. "This isn't one of those human mating things, Zaal'—but why don't you go keep an eye on Lin? I still don't trust him."

Zaalbar groaned in what sounded like agreement. Canderous went over to their storage bins and pulled out two practice blades. He tossed her one, and hefted the other in his hand, measuring the weight.

Revan dropped to a defensive stance. He saw the faint frown on her face. He knew she hated fighting with a single blade, but she wasn't bad. You could say much about the Jedi—and very little of it flattering--but they did teach true warriors. It was beyond his comprehension why an order of sniveling pacifists placed such value on combat training; but in the end, the Wars had been a true test. There is no shame in falling to a superior foe.

Canderous came at her lightly, swerving his blade down in a dance as old as time. She met the thrust and pushed him back. He let her, stepping back and then suddenly dropped his guard, curious to see what she'd do. Revan didn't take the easy hit offered—instead she whirled around and blocked him again, recognizing the feint for what it was. He grinned approvingly and they danced faster.

"What—"she began in Mandalorian, ducking a swipe at her shoulder and parrying his advance with the tip of her blade, "—do you want to talk to me about, Canderous?"

He let the steps carry them from one corner of the room to the other, searching for a beginning.

"My people believe in war. This you know. There is no greater honor than besting a worthy opponent, cheating death, and serving side by side with your comrades at arms."

"This I know," Revan echoed, twisting her sword and pushing his back. Canderous ducked and came up with an undercut that glanced lightly on her waist. "Yours," she admitted a wry smile on her face. She pushed forward again, seeking an advantage. He left one open and she took it this time. Her sword stung lightly on his leg. "Mine--," she frowned. "Did you _let_ me get that hit?"

He pressed harder, testing her mettle. She was still badly weakened, but her body knew what to do, even if it wasn't up to its old strength.

Canderous tried again. "You—spent some time among us. You fight like a woman...."

"Is that an insult, Ordo?" Her blade flashed with a bit more speed and he parried her again.

"No, you fight like a woman of the clan. They...must have taught you."

Revan dropped her blade down suddenly, and his sword glanced across her wrist with more force than he'd intended.

"Ow," she said a hint of reproach in her eyes. "Perhaps you'd better just come out and tell me what's bothering you. I saw your face when Lin said I was adopted. What is it? Why does that matter, Cand'? Is this about me being the Mandalore—does that really mean anything—now?"

Canderous put his own sword down and sighed. "No. Revan. Something happened to you on Mandalore. Something...you've forgotten I think. Something you should know."

"I know _something_ happened there," she said, frowning. "I was—hurt. Maybe I tried to kill Fett Cassus and failed. Vrook said something like that. I know I was hurt, I remember...pain. And blood."

"The clans do not adopt outsiders, Revan. Not without reason. Marriage is rare, but it happens. The other reason is—an old thing, a very old tradition."

Her laughter was scornful. "Marriage!" She bit her lip. "I _was_ married. To Malak. Is that why—they adopted us because we were married?"

Canderous sighed. "Lin told me about Malak. And no. Not Malak—he wouldn't have mattered to them. Only you—and—and—." He didn't ask her how she'd learned about the marriage. She knew things, sometimes. They came to her in dreams.

_Just not the things she needs to know_.

"Did it happen—there--were we married there?" Her eyes scanned his face, searching for her lost memories. He had none to give her, only the words.

_I need to just tell her, just say it._

It wasn't easy to do. "Any child born under a clan tent becomes part of the clan. The child and its mother," Canderous said flatly.

Revan still didn't seem to understand. "But I wasn't born on Mandalore—was I?"

He shook his head. It was as if she didn't _want_ to know. He couldn't blame her. To have no memory of that...as he'd told her, battle was one side of the Mandalorian code. Another side was life and the continuance of the clan. Every child was a blessing, just as much as every victory: the strength of the clan depended on its increase. Conquest and birth, the cycle as old as stars, wind, and sand.

"You had a son," he said quietly. "In Clan Lin's tents. You were carrying him when you came to them. The babe was born there. That's why they adopted you—adopted you both. Lin said....your mate—Malak—came before the birth. The Fett married you, and the babe was blessed by our ways. You and the child were members of Lin, as surely as if you'd been Mandalorian. Our people take these things very seriously."

The color that had begun to return to her cheeks faded, and the sword she still held in her hand clattered on the durasteel floor.

"A son," she whispered. "I only remember sand. Sand and blood."

Revan's eyes looked at him accusingly, and Canderous spoke fast—cutting off the question before she said it. "You left with the babe. I don't know more than that, Revan. Among our people, children are a—sacred thing. To have no memory of—something that important—is—obscene. I don't know what your Republic or Sith beliefs are—but for Clan..." His voice trailed off and he struggled to find the words. "I don't know if the babe lived or died. Lin said you all left, before the babe's naming day—maybe two standard months later—before raiding season."

"Raiding season," Revan echoed, staring at the sword on the floor. Her fists clenched, white-knuckled and he saw her struggling for breath, for control. Canderous had no idea what she'd do next.

_Nine hells, she's thinking of that Republic vid. It's the only memory she has, of any of it, it's all she has. They went to Eos._

Canderous remembered Eos.

There was tightness in his throat, and he blinked his eyes to stop the blur.

There was a long silence, where neither of them had any words to say. Revan was struggling; he could see it in every line of her. Her jaw worked wordlessly, and she lifted her head up to look at him again, her sun-colored eyes burning with something that could have been anger—but not at him.

"_Why didn't he tell me? Why didn't Malak—tell me?"_

Across the room one of the storage bins exploded in a shower of plasteel fragments, scattering its contents—the medical supplies they had left—across the room. Both of them ducked and rolled automatically, avoiding the worst of the shrapnel, but Canderous felt a sting as something sharp cut across the back of his neck. There was the sound of footsteps running from the other room, and an angry droid's voice from the supply closet in the hall.

_At least she didn't blow up the grenades bin_._ Or the outer hull._

"Master? Query: Are you injured? Suggestion: let me incapacitate the meatbag lackeys." There a loud banging noise as the HK tried to break free.

Zaalbar was there suddenly, howling at both of them, and Lin—who hung back at the edge of the room, lifting an eyebrow.

"You really don't have any control left," The whelp drawled. "What were you thinking, you could have killed us all, Rev."

Canderous stayed where he was, absently running a hand across the back of his neck to check the damage. Just a scratch really, and Revan seemed unscathed. As did the ship's main console—thank the gods.

Revan got to her feet, her black robes stained with plasta. Canderous got up too, heavily, his joints creaking. _You're getting old, Ordo_.

He watched her advance on the lad, her hands curled in a force gesture that made his hackles rise.

_Which one of them will you defend if she goes for Lin?_

Canderous really didn't want to make the choice. In the clans, it would be none of his business. Clan Lin business was Lin's business—but here—he felt a responsibility, an obligation as strong and foolish as any wookiee's life debt to Revan. And the pup...when he'd taken Lin on, he'd taken on the obligations of an elder warrior to one unblooded. That tie was as strong as any Clan loyalty.

_Better stop them. Say something. Anything._

"She doesn't remember it, Oerin. She didn't know she had a son." The words fell like stones on sand and the boy's eyes widened in shock—and pity.

"Oh," Fett's whelp said, holding his hands out in a defensive gesture. "Rev—I—didn't know." There was a long tense silence, before the boy went on. "We'll make them pay...I vow to you. I knew the Jedi broke your mind, but I didn't realize they could take away something like that...it's—it's monstrous. Lin's face twisted and he spat on the floor. We'll make them pay," he repeated, in a softer voice. "I promise you, on the honor of the clan we share."

Revan stopped. Canderous was glad he couldn't see her face, the back of her shoulders told him enough. She was like a coiled spring ready to strike. Zaalbar was still yowling, questions—they'd all been speaking Mandalorian and the wookiee didn't understand.

_Bloody suns we need the pilot. Republic could handle this, I--. _Canderous frowned. _Why am I even thinking something like that? Is there something some maffa-fed pilot can handle better than a real warrior? _That thought was automatic but provided false comfort. Truth was, Onasi _would_ know what to say to her. Clan Lin, Revan may be, but she was raised Republic. Who knew how these barbarians thought?

"Show me," she said to Lin. Her voice was pitched low, but there was no request in that tone. _"Show me or I'll rip it from your mind and leave you broken."_

Lin shrugged at her. "I was twelve. I was a boy. Boys don't—men don't—involve themselves with these things..."

"You were there," she insisted. "You—must have seen, something—anything—please." Her voice shook. "Please show me, Oerin. Show me what you remember."

A look of distaste crossed Lin's features, but his chin dropped. Canderous began to feel the edge of something like relief. _The whelp has some sense at least, I thought he'd challenge her._

Zaalbar growled again, frustrated, and HK began to yowl back through the closet in metallic Shryywook. The din made his head hurt. Revan ignored them all. Canderous was as force blind as a bantha, but he could feel the tension like an ion storm, right before the charge.

"You have a right to know," Fett's son said finally. "I'll show you Rev, but let me do it. Don't come barging into my mind like it's your own tent. If you do that, I'll cut you out. I can--I'm stronger than you are."

"People have been saying that to me as long as I can remember—which isn't very long," she said, voice steady now. "Then they all died. _Show_ me. I don't even know his name."

"I can't tell you his name," Lin said. "On Mandalore we don't name children until the end of their first year. If they're strong enough, and live that long then they—."

"_Show me." _Her voice had a dangerous edge again, and Canderous looked instinctively around for his sword. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it. "His face, you must have seen—you must have at least seen him—seen us—how it was with us and him."

Lin nodded and sat down warily on the floor, crossing his legs.

Revan sat down too. Canderous relaxed again—somewhat. Zaalbar was still yodeling back at the droid. Fett only knew what kind of translation the wookiee was getting. Canderous would have to explain it to him in Basic later. Right now...he moved over to the scatter of stims and supplies and began to salvage what he could. He glanced at the two still figures on the floor. Both of their faces were perfectly blank in that stillness he'd learned to associate with the force magic. Whatever passed between them was Lin business and none of his.

_You've done enough damage, Ordo. Now we'll see what happens._

Canderous wished the pilot was here. Much as he hated to admit it, Onasi was better at handling these things.

XXX

_Oerin Lin_

The outlander woman was still screaming. Mother always said the Jedi were supposed to be strong, but Rev sounded like any other woman getting a child. That thought made Oerin Lin blush. Men weren't supposed to listen—and boys weren't even supposed to _know_.

Apparently the barbarians didn't respect this, because it had taken an entire guard of Lin men around father's tent to stop the big one from charging off to where he had no business being.

Oerin frowned again at the enormous man, and offered him the tray of tea Father had made himself. The Fett couldn't be here himself of course—but he'd honored them with his youngest son. The barbarians didn't seem to understand that either. They treated him like a child.

"Do you play chess?" he asked. "Rev and I play sometimes."

The big man's eyes were unfocused, as if he wasn't really there at all. Reaching out with delicate tendrils of the force—just a whisper or they'd notice—Oerin realized that Malak really wasn't here. He was with Rev, somehow, feeling everything she did. Oerin slammed his mind shut tight before he got sucked in too. A hot blush crept up his neck. The tea tray trembled in his hands, delicate cups chiming against the burled wood.

"She lets you call her Rev?" the old man asked. He looked like he'd been hit with a concussion grenade, but he'd looked that way since he and Malak arrived two weeks ago. At least _he_ wasn't doing something filthy, like spying on women's business.

Oerin shrugged. "Rev doesn't _let_ me do anything. I do whatever I want. She's nice though," he added politely. She was nice, even if she kept telling his father that peaceful trade could solve all of their problems. She was a barbarian; she didn't understand that Mandalorians didn't have any problems. Things were the way they were. It was harvest time now, and so they lived in the tents the way their ancestors had millennia ago. Every season was different, just like every battle and every war.

"Why didn't you want Rev to get married?" he asked the old man. Vrook Lamar was Rev's uncle, or something. But she never called him Uncle; she called him some word in Basic that sounded like "Teacher" or "Master."

Old man Vrook sighed. "In the Order we are encouraged to wait before forming attachments like that. They're both very young."

"They're old enough to be blooded," Oerin shrugged. "I really don't understand your people at all."

The old man's lips twitched in something that could have been a smile. "I assure you, young Lin—sometimes I think that we don't understand yours either."

Malak let out a gasp. He'd bitten his tongue, Oerin noticed, and the blood ran out of his mouth, unnoticed. His eyes opened and he smiled, a glazed oblivious smile. "They're fine—she's—she's fine," he said out loud, wiping the sweat from his face. "_He's_ beautiful, she's—she's so happy...she looks so beautiful..."

His exuberance made Oerin blush. You really weren't supposed to celebrate children until after they'd been blessed.

"I'm glad, Malak," the old man said. He looked at Oerin. "Surely we can see her _now, _can't we?"

"When the women say so. You have to be tented, with her, Malak, for a month. Her and the babe. Then the blessing. You'll see her plenty that month. I could lend you my chess set, if you want. You'll need something to do."

"So we've been told," Vrook grumbled. "I'll get back to the city," he said to Malak. "And send a report. We can't hide this from the Council—or your father—forever."

The big man lifted his jaw. "I'm willing to face the consequences," he said. "We both are."

"Knights don't settle down and have families, not at your age. You have responsibilities, obligations...."

Malak shrugged. "I'll leave the order," he said. "D'Reev heirs have been trained by the Jedi—and then left it—for generations."

Vrook shook his head. "You know it's not that simple."

"We've had this conversation, Uncle. Do you mind if I call you Uncle now? I mean now that we're related..." Malak's face was expressionless, but under the surface he boiled so much that Oerin could almost see it. It was funny, Rev was just the opposite. On top she was like a sandstorm, but underneath she was rational and cold as ice. Maybe that was why she liked Malak so much. When he thought about it, Mother and the Fett were sort of like that too.

"I wish she'd told us earlier," Vrook sighed. "We could have--"

"--stored my son in a tank until your Council was done with its plans for my wife?" Malak's voice was flat and calm. It was fascinating to watch what was underneath. "No."

A masked face poked in through the side of the guest tent. "You can see her now," Caerus, Oerin's oldest half-brother said. "The women say it's time."

Oerin trailed behind the two barbarians, hoping that no one would notice his inclusion in their party. He pulled the hood over his face. Around them the camp milled with activity: running children, sounds of combat practice and the buzz of blaster fire from the target range. A dewback train lumbered by, laden with basilisk parts for refitting the harvest drones. Oerin frowned at that—Father had been very specific—_no advanced weaponry in front of the Jedi. _Someone was going to be very unhappy. Even if the trail through the camp was shorter, the suppliers should have taken the northern one.

Luckily, the two Jedi seemed lost in their own concerns. Dewback trains weren't unusual, you'd have to look close to see that it was Krathian weaponry bundled up in those baskets. The headwoman's tent was bright red and purple. They'd given Rev a great honor letting her birth there. Oerin slipped inside on Malak's heels and peered around the big man's arm, trying to catch a glimpse. Just a flash of a red-haired pink thing in Rev's arms and then a strong hand closed on his arm and yanked him back.

_"Oerin," _Headwoman Octiva hissed, scandalized. "Your mother will be shamed to hear of this."

"Don't tell her?" he suggested, as Octiva dragged him away. She held him so close that the pommel of her sword kept hitting his leg. Mother wasn't here. She was overseeing conversions on the Lin farms on Zal. Oerin thought she was avoiding the Jedi too, but he didn't dare mention that.

He heard the babe squalling all the way back to his father's tents. Octiva went straight to the Fett with the story and Oerin wasn't allowed to leave his own quarters for more than a month. When they did finally let him out, Rev and the Jedi and the babe were gone.

XXX

Revan opened her eyes and met Oerin's. "Thank you," she said. She felt strangely calm and detached now, as if all of her anger was frozen. She wondered about that and looked at him suspiciously. Oerin just blinked at her.

"Don't ask me to do that again." His eyes were flat and yellow.

Revan nodded, and sensed Canderous and Zaalbar stir cautiously behind them. "Don't—"she said, before anyone could speak. "Say. _Anything._"

There was a derm on the floor next to her robes, half crushed. She looked at it, measuring. "I'm—going to sleep now. Get out."

_Malak you have a lot to answer for._

_I know things, Red, things you've forgotten._

Revan closed her eyes and pressed the derm on her neck, right at the pulse. It worked fast. Blackness took her before she could get up and make it to that horrible couch.

XXX

_Carth Onasi_

Commander Carth Onasi was part of the Republic's escort, commanding a fighter wing from the carrier _Morgana_. Ostensibly their mission was to draw the enemy forces out of the cluster. However, like most things in war, the reality was somewhat different. It was a slaughter. And they were on the losing side.

Jaxus Cluster is an asteroid belt that encircles half of the Malachor system like strands of jewels. Treacherous rocks, some the size of small planets, are caught in the shifting orbits of the galactic tide. The Republic fleet of Interdictors navigated through the rocks as clumsily as Hutts with no grav lifts. Mandalorian Warbirds were smaller--more easily maneuverable and more easily hidden. Rumor was that Cassus Fett himself was somewhere in this shifting sea of rocks and space debris.

The Jedi on board the _Vengeance _gave them fair warning. Mandalorian fighters in the delta sector—cloaked. At least one hundred small ships—and one Lin flagship. The orders came through and Carth followed them. Take out the fighters while the Interdictor ships concentrated their assault on the flagship.

They did their best, but it wasn't enough. The Mandalorians used grav nets to throw the asteroids. The clumsy capital ships were sitting targets and the _Vengeance _was boarded and taken. Its central command grid went down and the _Morgana_ was flying blind, with only their own sensors to view the battle. And asteroids jammed half of the screens.

Commander Onasi's new orders came through on a long-beam transmission from the fleet stationed around Malachor V. The orders came when Carth was in the middle of reorganizing his surviving command for a full-out assault.

_"Captain Onasi," _a flat voice said over the commlink. Carth didn't even blink at his sudden promotion. War was like that and it didn't really matter anymore. He was going to die; they were all going to die. He tried not to think of Morgana and Dustil back home. He couldn't think about them, not now. He would die for them and for Telos. Die for their freedom. That was how war was, that was what it meant.

"_Fall back to alpha code nine nine eight four pi three point five." _

The Republic's way of saying, 'live to fight another day.'

Carth exhaled sharply and felt a sense of numb relief. Around him on the small bridge, his men cheered. Some of them were crying, but he didn't say anything. His own cheeks were wet. "Who is this?" he asked. The voice was unfamiliar.

_"Jedi Revan," _the voice answered him. "_I'm on the Leviathan with Rear Admiral Karath. He sends his regards."_

Carth punched in the commands, transmitting on low-beam to his other ships. The holomap in front of him spun, plotting their new trajectory. His wing of fighters pulled back and ran.

"How bad is it out there?" It wasn't unusual, taking orders directly from the Jedi, but he'd never spoken to Revan herself. He'd heard of her—who hadn't—but he'd never been under her direct command.

The voice seemed to hesitate before it answered him. "_You're the last ones_. _The Mandalorians boarded the Vengeance, but you took out most of their escort. Saul says to tell you there'll be a medal waiting for you on Telos. Medals for all of you."_

"You going to pin that medal on my chest yourself, sister?" Carth asked, wiping his eyes. They were near the hyperspace jump point now, they'd outdistanced their pursuit.

_That's the one thing the Republic can still do better than the Mandalorians,_ he thought blackly. _Run away. Another battle lost, just like Althir._

_"I wish I could, Captain. But I have an appointment on Mandalore."_

"Switching sides, or are you going to bomb the hell out of them again?" His laughter sounded forced, and he scanned the screen. Out of ten fighters, he still had six, flying in weaving escort to the _Morgana. _The hangar decks opened and the smaller ships slid in, one after another in perfect formation.

"Ninety seconds to jump," Lieutenant Hariss said. He glanced up at her and nodded.

_Morgana will be happy to see me again, after Althir I bet she thought I'd never come home. Dustil—I need to bring him back something...._

He'd almost forgotten the comm link was still open. Carth jumped when he heard the reply.

"_I'm going to Mandalore to end this," _Jedi Revan said. A normal person would have spoken those words in anger, but the Jedi weren't normal. Her voice was cold, no emotion at all. "_I'm putting an end to the game. The Fett isn't going to take any more of our ships or our worlds. No more wars."_

_She's just a kid,_ Carth thought angrily. _All of those Jedi, kids out to save the galaxy. _Carth remembered the one he'd met in the spacer cantina on Althir just before the Republic lost their shirts there. Malak D'reev himself, the pompous ignorant ass.

"You do that," he responded flatly, bordering just to the left of insubordination—as if the Jedi had any rank in the fleet anyways....Behind him someone snickered_. Blasted arrogant Jedi._ Her reply—if there was one—was cut out as the _Morgana _spun into hyperdrive. The Jaxus Cluster blurred into a thousand points of light.

XXX

_After Saul's death, After the Leviathan, Carth would watch the woman he loved sleep and remember their first conversation. Dissect it for every nuance. He'd never told her. It wasn't really her after all. Not anymore. _

_Could there have been malice in her voice? Desperation? Sincerity? The voice eluded him: whoever Jedi Revan was, she was gone. The tangibility of her soft form next to him in the Hawk's cramped bunk was more real than anything before it. Everything he'd had before, he'd lost—but he still had her._

_She had nightmares, but he was used to them by now. They were as much a part of her as the arch of her eyebrows or the smell of her skin._

XXX

"Promise me," she said again. They were on the bridge of _Hawk_, but even the familiar seemed somehow out of place. Disconnected. Carth was so tired. "Promise me that if I become what I was you'll put a blaster to my head."

"I promise."

Revan looked at the floor. "Malak acted on my orders. Telos. I-I-remember. It was a test for Karath. Bomb his homeworld to prove his loyalty to the Sith."

"Are you sure?" Carth asked her, frowning. It was important to be sure, important to know what that voice really meant.

_Had it only been the mask Jedi Revan wore that made her sound so cold, or was it something inside her? _

His mind slipped away again, focusing on a memory that seemed more real than this—even though he didn't know where—or when—it had happened.

_Had it only been the mask that made her sound so cold, or was it something inside her?_

_Something—wrong?_

XXX

_"Something wrong?__ Something on your mind?" _The old Jedi—he could call himself whatever he liked, but Jolee Bindo was a Jedi, no matter what he pretended. He was the only sensible Jedi Carth had ever met.

_"It's about Polla," _Carth stared at the waves breaking over the wrecked hull of a ship whose pilot hadn't been as lucky as they had. _"I'm worried about her."_

_"She's got the others with her now, and I'm sure they'll find the parts we need to get off this rock—but—that's not what you mean, is it kid?"_

Carth laughed nervously. "_No, that's not what I mean, old man."_

_"Ah," _Jolee said. _"You know, you call her Polla, except when she upsets you. Then it's Revan this, Revan that. You love the woman; I'd think you'd know her name."_

Carth ignored that. It was true. _"You told me about your wife, once..."_

Jolee sighed. _"And you told me about yours. Forgive the bluntness of an old coot, but no woman is as perfect as you made Morgana out to be. Love is a beautiful thing, Carth Onasi—but don't be spaceblind. Revan isn't perfect either. If you want to really love her you should open your eyes. Love Revan, not Polla or some ideal."_

_"It's a little late to pretend I have a choice, isn't it? Poll—Revan _needs_ me. I won't let her down, I can't."_

_"There's always a choice," _said Jolee, staring at the ocean.

XXX

Now he was on the bridge of the _Hawk_. Going to Korriban. Dustil, he needed to find Dustil. His son was a Sith. Those bastards had his son, those Sith bastards had Dustil.

But his mind felt _wrong_ somehow—like--like none of this was real.

"Promise me," Revan said again. They were on the bridge of _Hawk_, but even the familiar seemed somehow out of place. Disconnected. He was so tired. "Promise me that if I—become what I was you'll put a blaster to my head."

"I promise."

Revan looked at the floor. "Malak acted on my orders. Telos. I-I-remember. It was a test for Karath. Bomb his homeworld to prove his loyalty to the Sith."

"Are you sure?" Carth asked her, frowning. It was important to be sure, important to know what that voice really meant.

XXX

_"What I meant to ask you was—about your wife—"___

_"Nayama, her name was Nayama." __Jolee traced a foot in the sand, sketching out a small circle. The salt spay stung Carth's eyes._

_"You tried to save her..."___

_"I failed," __Jolee said. "She went on to kill others. Have I ever told you the story about the man and the serpent?"_

_"The one where the man gets the snake to follow him out to the desert and the serpent asks him why he's put his own life in danger?"___

_"That's the one. What does the man say?"___

_Carth rolled his eyes. "If you really didn't want Revan to do any harm, Bindo, why did you agree to come here? Bringing her here is like—giving your snake teeth to bite the entire galaxy. Do you think it's fair to her—making her face this now?"_

_Jolee turned and looked at him. "Will you listen to yourself? I'm talking to _Captain_ Carth Onasi and not some sun-addled love blind fool, aren't It? Would you really desert the Republic, leave Bastila to Malak, abandon your son to live in a world under the Sith's thumb, and run away with Revan just because you think she's suffered enough?" __Jolee's calm exterior shattered. "She's suffered, you've suffered, and I've suffered. On and on it goes. Worlds still turn, suns still shine. In a way she's fortunate, most people don't get a chance to make things right."_

_"I—I'm sorry, you're right. No—I couldn't run away, I couldn't let her run away—I just—I worry."___

_"We all worry, kid. She worries too. Just be there for her. Don't let her down."___

_"I—I still think the Council should have found another way."___

_"I don't like the Council any more than you do. But in a way, they did the right thing. They showed mercy. They saved Revan's life."_

_XXX_

_Promise me, she said._

_I could never kill you Polla, I could never hurt you. I love you. Someday, when this is all over, I hope you can find a way to—to love me too. I want to give you something to live for, something for us to live for...._

XXX

"Promise me," she said again. Her voice sounded strained and hoarse, as if she'd been talking for a very long time. They were on the bridge of _Hawk_, but even the familiar seemed somehow out of place. Disconnected. He was so tired. "Promise me that if I—become what I was you'll put a blaster to my head."

"I promise," Carth said, and pulled the trigger.

_Mercy._

XXX

_Rahasia_

_Shen,_ she thought. _I'm--_

It happened so fast. The gun wasn't a prop at all. Bright light and everything gone.

Above her a voice. "That's a wrap. Get him ready for primetime."

XXX

_Yuthura Ban_

There were ten of them, ten that came out of the Sith Embassy doors into a glare of holocams and reporters. Four days later: just ten of them. They were the only ones left alive.

The lights and voices blinded her senses, but Yuthura Ban just kept moving forward. If she kept moving forward, eventually there would be another door and a hallway and then the courtyard and a right, and another hallway—and eventually, they'd be back at the Republic compound. She tried not to think any farther ahead than that. Most especially, she didn't speak. Not again. That sympathetic Bothian interviewer that had made her spill her guts on Coruscant was nowhere to be seen. That was small relief. If he'd been here, she'd probably kill him too.

Armon Wu held her arm tightly, whether to give her support or hold himself up, she wasn't quite sure. She'd healed the worst of his injuries—all of their injuries—but she could feel the scales tipping as she drew on the force—feel how easily the balance could shift again. There was solid corusteel platform under their feet now, but it felt as shaky as plimfoam.

"Let us pass," Beya said hoarsely, walking at her other side. "Just let us go."

The others moved like shades, their former bravado crushed, and all the darkness of their memories hanging like miasma in the air. Gharen didn't even have any Force power to speak of—he'd been a soldier during the wars—but what she'd seen in his mind was no different than the rest. Madness, despair and rage.

Yuthura came to the Sith from a region of space infested with slavers; but mostly untouched by the Mandalorian conflict. She'd thought she'd known darkness. Darkness was a whip and slaver's block, and the feel of her master's blood gushing hot under a vibroknife. But these Sith had felt worlds die when they fought for the Republic. It was the same darkness; but compounded to an intensity she'd never realized until she tried to see it from the other side.

Until she tried to bring them back.

Many of the dead had been innocents—of a sort. Kel Algwinn, Lysteria Ro, dozens more: children playing games in the dark, playing at evil. But they could not be turned, and her supporters could not be stopped. And now, here they were. All that was left.

There'd been a singer once in Omeesh's court, on Sleheyron, where she'd spent what could never be properly called a childhood. Oddly, one of the songs came to her now--just a snatch of lyric--but she could almost hear his broken voice singing the words again, as she crouched chained to the Hutt's bed, awaiting his passing fancy.

_How well I remember that terrible day  
How the blood stained the sand and the water_

Uthar had been in the wars—Mandalorian and Sith. But he never spoke of it. Yuthura knew things—you can't rise very far in the Sith hierarchy on Korriban and _not_ learn a few simple facts of history—but she'd never had to _feel_ them before.

It had begun so easily, and it could have ended that way as well. She came to the Sith Embassy with Revan. It would have been easy to make her excuses and go after she heard the whine of that transport ship taking off with her first friend in it. She'd promised the Jedi she'd observe—watch Revan—that was _all_ she was supposed to do.

But she couldn't leave. There is a sort of pride in being a teacher--Sith or otherwise. A sort of pride in one's ability to instruct and--guide. With Oerin and Revan gone, the Sith inside the Embassy had been confused. Only a matter of time before they tore themselves apart. Fool's games. _I had a responsibility. _She couldn't leave them. And so she'd stayed, and most of them had died. She'd failed.

_I failed Dustil and Mekel. I won't fail again._

She'd won. The Sith presence on Manaan was gone. And there was no armada to bring it back. Maybe there were Sith forces left on Ziost; but the back of the beast was broken.

_But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared  
Then turned all their faces away_

This was no parade, but somehow Yuthura felt like it should have been. Kel's smug little face when he turned on her, and the hiss of her blade when it clashed on his. She kept waiting for him to ask for mercy, beg her forgiveness, waiting for him to come back to the light but the stupid boy just died.

Kel was the first of many. Only these remained. Nine heroes and her. Towards the end—events were slightly a blur—and they'd been barricaded in the northern computer room for at least two days—and she'd looked at the tense faces of her companions. Strangers, all of them. The only thing they had in common was feeling Revan's rise. The rise after the fall and a faint glimmer of hope.

_If we can get out of here alive, maybe then...if the Dark Lord herself can be redeemed...why not us?_

Yuthura felt as much as heard Sheris stumble behind them. She had no idea how the human woman was still on her feet at all. She'd lost an arm and had half her face burned off in the last of Oerin Lin's blood sports; but the woman just kept moving, kept living. Beya, her former adversary in the games, dropped back to support her.

_There is no measure of suffering,_ the Twi'lek thought to herself. _No scale that says that my experience was less than theirs. Only—after feeling theirs—I feel the weight of mine even more. _

The crowd lining the halls around them was silent now. Faces just stared at them. Stared and looked away. The whir of a floating holocam captured it all for the vids. Yuthura turned and looked straight at the metallic yellow eye, and said nothing.

Here and there, a few faces that looked uncomfortable in civilian clothes. Yuthura sensed more than saw the figures that fell in behind them. _Former Sith soldiers._ In the few days she'd been locked in the Embassy, being a Sith on Manaan had become unpopular.

_And the old men march slowly, all bent, stiff and sore  
The forgotten heroes from a forgotten war_

_The Republic's won control of the kolto,_ Yuthura thought, emptily. _If we can heal the oceans and make it grow again._

She wondered if she should feel proud about what she'd done. It was easier to just feel nothing.

Roland Wenn met them at the desk, flanked by Masters Vrook and Ferrin. She was relieved to see Vrook, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. She'd never liked Ferrin, the Zabrak was one of the traditionalists in the Council, one of the ones who'd questioned her when she came to them.

"They'll want to see you on Coruscant immediately," Wenn said. "All of you."

Yuthura was well aware of the holocam still trailing them. She took a deep breath and spoke to Wenn, turning her face half-towards the camera. Live feed, wideband. What had that Bothian said?

_Speak and the entire galaxy listens._

"We're here to save the kolto. We're here to heal Manaan's oceans. Every one of us is a Republic citizen. These nine with me are the veterans from the Mandalorian wars. Heroes of the Republic."

"More than nine," Gharen said softly. Yuthura turned and looked. It was true. Almost twenty others stood with them now, every face hardened and worn from what they had seen, despite their civilian clothes.

"These sentients fought a war to end all wars," Yuthura continued. "And lost. But before that, they won a war for you. We are Republic citizens," she repeated. "Republic citizens just like Captain Carth Onasi, who was taken against his will to Coruscant—for what purpose we do not know. Republic citizens just like Revan Starfire, the hero you made—and broke—when she stopped serving your purpose."

_This game is more dangerous than you realize, Yuthura Ban. _Vrook's thought brushed her mind soft as shadow. Ferrin glanced at him, frowning.

_This is no game,_ she shot back.

_I wish...that were true._

Beya Organa spoke. "The Jedi and the Senate know why we left, after the Mandalorian Wars. Perhaps it's time to tell the rest of the worlds the truth." Her flat Deralian accent echoed like permacrete.

Roland Wenn coughed.

"The live feed cut out right after 'war to end all wars,' Wenn said mildly. "Perhaps you'd like to come inside so we can discuss this. The Selkath are concerned about the explosions in the Sith Embassy. We got you clearance to make it this far, but if you don't come with me now, I can't guarantee your immunity. And the penalty for murder on Manaan is--of course--death."

They'd expected this, but Yuthura had a twinge of unease. It almost seemed too easy.

"Then we throw ourselves on the mercy of the Selkath court." The Twi'lek said. "We're here to heal the kolto, and atone for our crimes."

Wann's face tightened. "As you wish." He tapped some buttons on his desk.

Vrook still wouldn't meet her eyes. His mind was as blank and careful as glass.

XXX

Tifa-Carbuncle – thanks, they do have many internal struggles don't they? Sometimes I think they should all get out more. Hopefully on Coruscant...

ether-fanfic More Dustil and Mekel Coming! And Carth will get out of this...somehow.

xenzen Chills are good J thanks!! I fixed Deralia...this chapter, will catch the others when I do a continuity edit, which I can see needing. Are Capital ships and Interdictors the same thing? (ducks)

Meant to format the notes from Hulas like that, although, yes, it does look silly. How is this Carth?

Prisoner: Thanks as always—the timeline saved me muchly here...

And Holli, thanks! Here it is...

Next up: Dustil and Mekel, Malak's father, certainly a dream sequence between R & M, and name of the babe. (and why)


	10. The Republic Strikes Back

Dislaimer: as previous

Author's Notes: at end.

This is slightly more upbeat. Also, this is the edited version—for some reason (possibly I should stop posting at 3am) I seem incapable of catching typos until after I post. Typos and pacing. Tightened up Dustil and Mekel a bit too. On a related topic, if you want to beta this fict...shoot me an email.

**XXX**

**Chapter 10 / The Republic Strikes Back**

_Revan_

_Why didn't you tell me, Malak? Why didn't you tell me? _Revan's mind whirled and beat uselessly against the question, but her body was still and calm—and somehow removed.

"Why didn't you ask? I kept waiting for you to ask." His voice was soft and kind. It made her shiver.

They were in a large cargo hold filled with people. Thousands of them, crammed together like livestock. The room stank of sweat and fear. Revan huddled next to Malak, wrapped in her cloak. Something moved under it. Something in her arms. Her breath caught in her throat and she pushed the cloak aside, looked down at the small face, nuzzling her chest. Little red curls covered the curve of his head and his fingers opened and closed. His nose was scrunched and she stared at it fascinated, trying to see herself and Malak's features in that tiny face.

_Oh. He's—he's—perfect, he's wonderful, he's mine—he's--_

Revan swallowed past the lump in her throat. The baby opened his eyes and looked up at her. In the dim light she couldn't tell their color and she looked closer. Blue maybe, fading to gray. _Malak's eyes, he has Malak's eyes. _The noises and smells faded away and she only looked at him. _My son. Mine. _He looked back at her, wide-eyed and trusting.

Malak's hand brushed her cheek gently. _"Ours," _he said.

Revan looked up at him, trying to reconcile this gentle-faced man with the Sith Lord she'd killed. Their son was heavy in her arms, and her--_husband's—_face was taunt with strain, but young and unmarked. Her hair itched, and belatedly she realized they were all filthy. Still, she felt oddly content. She should be angry—she _would_ be angry—but right now, right now...here he was. Her son. Her son in her arms. Right now that was all that she could see.

_The Refugee ship from Eos, this must be how it was._

Malak tilted his head back against the wall of the bulkhead. The flickering fluorescents above them lit the line of his young profile from forehead to shoulder.

"It wasn't all like this. We quarreled about his name for at least a day, and about me leaving the order for at least a week. You were obsessed with the Fett, and swore vengeance. I kept telling you to shut up. Vrook ran himself ragged trying to care for the sick, feeling the emotional distress around us was _not_ pleasant, we had lice—all of us, even Mal—and you...kept going on and on about changing the order from within. My father was actually quite pleased when we finally got through to him from Taris...and we traveled the rest of the way in proper accommodations. Not that you seemed to notice—you were so single-minded about Mal and your causes that you scared me, Red."

_Mal. Mallie._

"Mal. We named him Mal?" The baby squirmed in her arms and she marveled at the way his hand curled around her finger.

"Malachor. It had to be Mal-something, family tradition—my family. You thought it appropriate when we were tented on Mandalore. Afterwards...I wanted to change it. You didn't."

_Mal. Mallie. Malach. Malachor._

It was hard to be angry with her son in her arms. But...

"You should have told me." Even as she said it, Revan felt a sad sense of inevitability. _Some part of me knew, I must have known—how could I not? _Malachor was so real and warm in her arms.

"You should have _known." _Malak said. "He cries for you still, but you shut yourself off from him long ago."

_"Where is he?" _Her son looked up at her with red-lashed eyes. _Maybe three months old,_ a part of her thought. _He'd be bigger now, he'd be—bigger now, older—he'd..._

"Where do you think, Red?"

_It was nine years ago that we went to Malachor—Malachor would be—bigger--he'd be eight years old, he'd be..._

"Coruscant. He's on Coruscant, isn't he?"

"Our Masters always said you were the smart one."

"He's on Coruscant with your father." A spark of anger flickered. "Your father who took Carth. Is there anything else you want to tell me about your father, Malak?"

Malak's voice was mocking. "My father was quite fond of you once. I used to think he liked you more than he ever liked me. He's told our son that you were a great hero who sacrificed your life for the Republic. Of course, that's when he thought you were dead.... He'll come up with something else now, I imagine. He always turns any disadvantage on its head. My father enjoys that—it's part of the game."

"Is our son—well?"

"He's crying again, I should go to him." Malak got to his feet and the room narrowed suddenly, became a long hall made of gray stone. The carpet under them was white and soft. Revan got up to follow him, cradling her son against her chest. His warmth was reassuringly real—and for a disconnected moment it seemed more like a memory than a dream. _This hall, our son. Our son, this place._ But she heard nothing. No crying.

"You can't come," Malak said. "He cries for you and you don't hear him. My father lets him cry, the servants don't really care. I'm all he has."

She stared at the baby in her arms. He burbled up at her waving his arms, happy, not crying at all. _He's not really here. This isn't him, not anymore. _

"You said I shut him out—how?"

Malak laughed. "You aren't going to ask _why_?" Revan looked up at him, Sith-damned face, that metal jaw. "I don't know _how_, Red. The same way you shut out everything you don't want. It's your nature—your gift. It was a gift that I didn't have." He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. "Sometimes I wished I did."

_How could I not want this? _Malachor closed his eyes and nestled against her. She raised the crown of his head to her lips and kissed it, breathing in his sweet baby smell. "I want him back."

For a moment Malak looked as young as he had, the same vulnerable face underneath the sith mask. "I want that too," he said softly. "He needs you, I've been _trying _to tell you that but you don't listen."

Revan took a deep breath. Memories tugged at her, all of them false. Her mother's kitchen, the farm on Deralia, family—warm, noisy, messy and safe. Her own memories, _her _memories--not Polla's--mocked her. The quest for the Star Forge and her fall—making friends and killing them. That blind hatred she'd had towards Malak at the end. Like a song that drowned out everything else. _Malak and the Council, she'd make them pay, she'd crush them all..._

"What happened to us, Malak?"

He was walking away. His cloak swirled behind him. His voice echoed metallic and bitter down the long stone walls.

_"How can you measure the value of one life against a thousand? We must be prepared to make any sacrifice to save the lives of all sentients. This is what the Order teaches us. But now, when the Outer Rim needs our sacrifice, our Masters preach caution and temper their indecision with empty platitudes. The Mandalorian threat is real."_

_"Fett Cassus Lin will not stop his advance at Eos or Cathar. And when he sacks Republic worlds, when Republic citizens begin to die, our ships will be blind without the Force to guide them. We Jedi are the only defense the Republic has against the Mandalorian's cloaking technology. We Jedi, who swear, just as much as any Republic soldier, to uphold the cause of freedom and life for every sentient, must join this fight. And we must do it now—before more worlds fall, before more lives are lost."_

Revan's arms were empty, and suddenly the stone hallway seemed very cold.

Malak was gone, but walls reverberated with the sound of his speech. And his mocking laughter.

_Our speech, the speech we gave to the Senate. And the Council._

_Clink of glasses and the murmur of soft conversation. Someone was asking her a question._

She walked along the empty hallway, listening for her son, looking for her son, but each room was empty: richly appointed cells that seemed oddly sterile and cold. Everything was white. White on white.

_I need to remember this, I need to come here. For Malachor. Malachor and Carth._

_And then what?_

_Then..._

A long curving staircase led to an empty ballroom, but it hadn't been empty always. She could almost hear the clink of glasses and the murmur of soft conversation. There were two entrances on either side, archways leading to paneled conversation rooms. Revan explored them both, but there wasn't much to see. One had a chessboard and a ring of soft red couches. Another long hallway, enameled with Zabrak designs, a trophy room full of mounted heads of beasts from a hundred uncivilized worlds. A Tarentatek's eyes glittered coldly and a Krayt dragon. A library, with a chair like a burnished throne and a polished marble floor. Her reflection gleamed back at her from the ground, hair loose around her shoulders, robed in white. Her face looked rounder, and very young.

Everything was immaculate and arctic. She tried to imagine a child in this place and failed.

_Where's the entrance?_

An arched hallway led to a towering rotunda. A greenhouse. Revan paused at a patch of eridu plants, absently picking a stalk and twisting it in her fingers to make the long sturdy thread. Red flowers dangled overhead from a Kashyk vine. The air was sweet and heavy. She looked up through the crystaglass panels at the orbitals sailing overhead in the clouds and then realized what she was doing and dropped the thread.

_I've never even seen an eridu bush before._ Her thoughts were disconnected, and she tried to make tactics out of them. _Find the main entrance. Find the secondary entrance. Look for access panels. Figure out a way in and out._ But she couldn't make her feet move to go look.

Something brown caught her eye, a brown furry thing caught in a blue-leafed bush. Revan went over and pulled it out. It was a stuffed child's toy, much worn. A blunt black-nosed face with round big eyes. She stroked the fur, smoothing it. A wookiee? The toy wore a makeshift red tunic. Someone had stitched a blue butterfly on the front.

_This is his, this is my son's._

She lifted the toy to her face and smelled the fur. Sun-baked, plain soap, nothing more. Revan realized that she was crying.

_Crying for something I didn't know I had._

XXX

_Carth Onasi_

"Wish fulfillment dreams are common among many sentient races. It's perfectly normal to try and relive events in the past. Perfectly normal to wish you'd done things differently. But you can't change the past. What you need to do, Captain Onasi, is focus on the future, _your_ future."

The psych droid whirred a metal eye and looked at him. Carth stared back at it suspiciously. Standard issue in the Republic fleet: a golden durasteel mockery of a man with that soft flat voice, designed to pry out all of your secrets. He'd been down this road before, after Telos, when they questioned him about Saul. They gave you drugs to make you calm, make you _talk _about things that really shouldn't ever be said. Then they kept prodding at you, picking at you until you spilled your guts. Eventually, they'd say you were 'cured' and pack you off to fight again. He'd fought again and won more battles against the Sith. He'd searched for Dustil, and tried to forget Morgana. He'd been a hollow man, and the perfect soldier.

Then came the assignment aboard the _Endar Spire, _for a flock of Jedi led by that famous Bastila Shan.

_That famous Bastila Shan, that _dead_ famous Bastila Shan. Revan tore her apart._

_I was in love with the Dark Lord of the Sith. I betrayed everything the Republic stands for, everything I fought for, for her._

_I wish I had just shot her after the _Leviathan_. I should have. _

Revan's death seemed so real for something that had never happened.

"Focus on my future," Carth repeated out loud. "Where is my son?"

The droid whirred sympathetically. "I was informed that they haven't been able to locate Dustil since he sent that message. But I assure you, every effort is being made. Surely when he learns that you survived, he'll find _you,_ Captain Onasi."

Carth was a hero; they all kept telling him that, the crew of the _Pearl_ The Force can do terrible things to a mind, Sergeant Silvana said. Darth Revan twisted your mind to her own ends. None of this is your fault.

He tried not to remember her face, that empty voice telling him about Telos and Saul. Funny, he couldn't remember Morgana's face; but Revan's was clear in his mind. The arch of her eyebrows, those large eyes that were too big for the rest of her features. The curve of her nose and her pointed chin. That curl of a smile that was almost a smirk.

_If I'd killed you on the _Leviathan_, if I'd just killed you then, Mission and Juhani and Jolee would still be alive. Maybe Bastila too._

"I wish I had killed her then," Carth confessed, not for the first time.

"Of course, that's normal, perfectly normal," the droid assured him. "You understand now, why the Republic had to go to such lengths on Manaan to liberate you?"

Carth nodded. He'd been so angry at Wann, he'd felt betrayed all over again—but the man had saved him. Saved him so that he could find Dustil. Find Dustil and pick up the pieces.

"When do we dock on Coruscant?" he asked restlessly.

"One more standard day. There's a member of the Senate coming to meet you. Someone who understands something about loss—and betrayal. He's taken a special interest in your case. His name is Malachi D'Rreev."

_Produced by Malachi D'Reev_

_White letters on a black veil of stars._

_The feel of her in his arms. Revan was trembling a little and he didn't think she realized it. She felt so fragile, like a broken bird. She was such a perfect little liar. All that evil, contained in one woman's body. The blood of millions on her hands. Morgana's blood. Juhani, Jolee, Mission and Bastila._

Carth unclenched his fists and took a deep breath. "Senator D'Reev--Malak's father?" He felt a stab of pity for the man—and—and sympathy.

The droid nodded its head, an oddly human gesture. Of course it was programmed to mimic human gestures--yet be a step removed. Easier to talk to a machine about your problems. Machines do not judge, they only listen.

"When you're ready of course," the droid continued. "The Senate would like you to make a statement. Darth Revan is a threat to the galaxy, and you are the one man who can tell that story. You were there."

_I wasn't there alone. _Carth spared a moment to think of Zaalbar and Canderous, still caught in the Sith web of deceit and lies.

"My friends," he muttered. It still felt odd to call Canderous that—Ordo was the enemy—_remember Althir? _But they'd been through so much, seen so much, and the man had been a friend.

_There are many things I regret, Pilot, Canderous said after his clansmen's suicide on Tatooine. The two of them tried to drink themselves into a stupor. Carth succeeded, but Ordo just kept going, one glass after another. Tantooine: one final stop there to refuel before setting off for the Star Forge and the bitter end._

_Carth remembered how their eyes had met over Revan's unconscious body on the deck of the Star Forge. He'd almost expected the Mandalorian to shoot him, but the man only nodded—as if none of this was a surprise._

"My friends—are victims even as I was." His voice sounded uncertain. _The Mandalorian had nodded, as if none of this was a surprise._ _What if it wasn't? What if all of that was somehow—part of her clever scheme?_ His thoughts didn't make much sense; he was so tired, so very tired. And all he'd done for the last week was sleep, it seemed. Sleep and answer questions. Always the same dream. The _Leviathan_ and _Her.___

"My friends are victims too," Carth repeated, a little more forcefully.

Zaalbar was innocent, he had to be. The Wookiee was one of the most noble men he'd ever known. _You buried Mission in the sand, the blade through her chest cut through two layers of Baragwin corcusteel. She was so very dead and she looked only surprised, not even scared. Like she hadn't believed Zaalbar would really do it, not until it happened--but he told you-- as you piloted the _Hawk_ off the doomed Star Forge. He asked you to kill him and end his life debt. He asked you...just like Revan did. And you did nothing._

The droid whirred and clicked. Lights on its chest panel flashed blue and red. "Regrettable," it said finally. "But they are not your friends. Who killed Mission Vao? Who swore allegiance to the Dark Lord? Perhaps the Wookiee and the Mandalorian are only weak-willed, swayed by Revan even as you were. But you must realize, their perfidy may extend much further."

The psychdroid got up from its chair and activated the console in the counseling chamber. An image flickered, a Manaan hallway, blank gray and featureless.

"This vid was taken the day after you left," the droid said. "Manaan security cameras."

A party came into view, led by a Mandalorian in full battle armor, helmet off and tucked casually under his arm. A frail masked figure in black robes. A wookiee. A fair-haired boy in a sith uniform. A purple-skinned Twi'lek in brown. A red metal droid, with a grenade belt slung around its shoulders. Behind them, a luggage cart floated—an oddly pedestrian touch that did nothing to dispel the image for what it was. A general leading her loyal troops. All of them circled the masked figure in perfect formation. Her cropped red hair—_growing back in red, I like redheads—_shone dully above the mask etched with sith runes. The Mandalorian's face was expressionless, but poised. Canderous' hand rested easily on the hilt of his double-edged vibroblade. Wookiee expressions are hard to read; but Carth could see the gleam of fealty in Zaalbar's eyes.

"Your friends," the droid continued. "If they were truly your friends, wouldn't you expect them to be concerned about your disappearance? Your friends went straight to the Sith Embassy, and from there Darth Revan transmitted a message to the remains of the Sith fleet. I've shown you that vid already."

Carth's hand twitched at his side, reaching for a blaster that he didn't have.

_He ran his hand down her back, stroking the soft skin. In the dim light, he could barely see the marks. Revan smiled, eyes half-lidded and yellow. Her voice was soft with false concern._

_"Do you want to take me away from all this because you love me, or because you want to keep the galaxy safe from my evil dominion?"_

_The question hung in the air for a moment, and in his mind he heard Jolee's voice._

_"So the snake looks at the boy as he lays dying and asks, 'Why were you foolish enough to follow me all the way out into the desert?' The boy looks back and replies, 'Did I follow you? I thought I was leading you away from everyone else...'"  
  
_

_Don't think about it, just don't, _don't think._ I was such a blind fool. Bastila was right about that--and then she tore her apart. Revan tore her apart._

_She did it to save you,_ a small voice in his head insisted. _No—some things can't be saved. I couldn't save Telos, I couldn't save Morgana and I couldn't save Revan. I was a fool._

__"Do you know where they are now—Revan and the others?" His voice sounded strangled, even in his own ears.

"I'm sorry, that information is not in my databanks, Captain Onasi. "But I assure you, the Republic will do everything it can to eliminate Darth Revan."

_What if she goes to Coruscant? What if I have to face her again? She'll want revenge, revenge on the Council. That's really what she wanted all along—not Dustil, not me—she'll go to Coruscant seeking vengeance._

_What about my vengeance? Vengeance for Morgana, vengeance for Telos, vengeance for what the Sith did to my son. Even Malak couldn't withstand thermals. I should have shot her after the Leviathan. I should have let her die on the Star Forge._

Her voice again, in his head. Her flat voice, the Revan voice—the one that wasn't Polla at all.

_"A capital ship, under my command exploded. Equipment malfunction. 75 members of the Jedi Council were aboard."_

_"You don't know."_

_"I can't remember, but I know Carth. I know what it feels like, to want to kill everyone that's hurt you." _

Her voice was so flat. Was it the mask that made her seem so cold or something inside? Something—wrong inside?

"Captain Onasi?" The psychdroid made a concerned clicking sound, processors hissing softly.

"I'm--I'm sorry," Carth said. "I was just thinking."

"You need to think about the future," the droid reminded him again. "Admiral Rensha has asked if you feel up to making a statement for the newsbands now. This is a dark time for the Republic. Sentients everywhere are afraid. If you're ready...it would help. And—perhaps your son would see the broadcast?"

_My son, Dustil. Dustil and the future. I won't think about her, I'll walk away, walk away with Dustil and make a life._

_She's Darth Revan, I can't run from that. I have to stop her._

Carth took a deep breath. Admirals didn't ask, this wasn't a request, it was an order. He was ready to follow orders, that was his job.

"The Jedi Council is in danger," he said out loud. "She'll hunt them down."

"I assure you, every precaution is in place to ensure their safety."

"I'm ready," he said and started to get up from the chair.

"No need," the droid clucked. "I have widebeam broadcast set up. Just look at the blue light and speak, tell your story."

XXX

_Polla Organa_

The living room was a mess. Stacks of her old star charts, thisla cores, empty juice and water pods littered the floor around the couch like galactic garbage around an orbital dump. The curved durasteel beams arched overhead, and the rain drummed on the duratin roof. Polla shifted again on the couch, trying to get comfortable, while she watched the Official Coruscanti Version for the hundredth time.

_"What do you know about the dark side?" Her voice was light and curious, almost playful. _

_The woman who thought she was Polla Organa put her elbows down on the table, cupping her face in her hands, drink untouched by her side. The cantina was dim and smoky, but the fake torchlight lit their profiles in sharp relief._

In this light, the woman's face could have been her own. There really _was _a resemblance. Polla leaned closer, watching each nuance of gesture more than the conversation itself. She'd seen this vid so often she could recite the conversation—dark side, blah-dee blah—great power—coin--whatever. There wasn't very much footage of Carth and Revan together; but Polla was fascinated by their relationship. He _was_ cute. And he looked a little like Seiran, she thought.

_"I... used to think the dark side was a fancy name for something that I see every day. Corruption is everywhere. People are greedy and stupid and do horrible things. I'm starting to think it's different for the Jedi, however. That there's this evil watching them, waiting for its chance. You have so much courage and strength in you... yet, somehow, I have no trouble imagining it differently. Like the flip side of a coin." _

His voice was painfully earnest. Even his stammer was oddly endearing.__

_"You don't know what you're talking about, Carth." The woman rolled her eyes and swallowed her drink—all of it—in smooth gesture._

Polla grinned, despite herself. The woman drank like a Deralian. Of course she would.

_"I've been watching you. It's not just you. It's Bastila, as well. She's so... intense. I don't pretend to know much about the Force... but I know evil."_

_"You think Bastila and I are evil?" The woman chuckled and signaled the bartender for another round._

_"No—no--of course not. All I'm saying is that when you have so much power, the stakes are higher. I can only imagine the kind of conflict that goes on inside you." _

_"I can handle myself, Carth."_

_"I know that, and Bastila says the same thing. You're both incredible women. I'm just... I'm just not sure this is the kind of thing you can defeat. I wouldn't want to see you hurt."_

_Her voice faltered and she looked startled. "That's sweet—that's really...I--I didn't know you cared." _

Carth's response was too soft to be picked up by the low-grade holocam in the Tatooine cantina. Not for the first time, Polla considered the pilot's profile, the clean lines of his face underneath the day's growth of beard and that cute lock of hair that fell over his brow. He really did look a little like Seiran, actually—older of course—but he had the same even good looks and earnest face.

_I guess it's no surprise that she fell for him—I would have fallen for him too._

_The woman who thought she was Polla put her hand over his and leaned closer, ducking her head so that her topknot fell flirtatiously over her eyes. Carth Onasi's hand reached across the table and touched her shoulder._

Polla Organa Wen stretched out on the couch. It was so hard to get comfortable now, only another month or so until the baby was born. _Where the hell is Seiran? He should be back by now._

The narrator for this segment cut in, oily and annoying. He looked like he was reading his words off a cue screen. Blue-skinned Twi'lek face--handsome enough if you liked the type--but there was something shifty in his eyes. She'd known a hundred just like him back in her smuggling days. Opportunists every one. His sister's death had been the best thing to ever happen to Griff Vao. He'd cashed out in spades.

_"On Tantooine, Revan Starfire reunited Bastila Shan with her mother, and saved me from the Sand People. Captain Carth Onasi was constantly at her side. When I first met him, I could tell that he loved her." The Twi'lek laughed. "I think I knew before they did! I'm a...pretty good judge of character." _

_"Revan—or Polla as we called her back then—and I went into business together. It's a great sadness to me that she and my sister didn't live to see the success of their initial investment. Griff's Tarisian Brew has grown into a multi-million credit operation and helped revitalize Tantooine's faltering economy. I'm a successful businessman—but I've never known love as those two did. Carth Onasi and Revan Starfire. Two lost souls that found renewed hope in each other, even amidst the turmoil of uncertain fate."_

_"They—and my sister Mission—would pay the ultimate price to ensure freedom for us all."_

_A tear glistened in his eye, and his head tails curled down sadly. Griff's face faded out to a cut from the holocam: Carth Onasi and the woman leaving the bar, his arm around her slim waist._

Polla eyed their retreating forms measuring. The pilot _was_ cute; he looked even more like Seiran from the back. Her waist had been that skinny once too. She patted the curve of her belly. Well it would be again, one of these days...

The front door opened and her husband came in with a rush of rain. Startled, Polla tried to sit up fast, but Junior's bulk made it awkward. "Stop." She said to the vid, and the image froze. "End," she said, clapping her hands fast, hoping he wouldn't see what she'd been watching.

"Oh, not again, Pollie," Seiran wasn't fooled, not for a second. He came over, and helped her to her feet. His hands were cold and he dripped rainwater all over the floor. Rainwater and mud. Well everything was a mess already, it really didn't matter much. "Why do you watch that trash?"

"I'm _bored,"_ she reminded him. Polla gave him a guilty kiss. His lips were cool and smooth against his rough stubbled chin. She brushed the rain off his face, pulling his topknot straight again. She wondered what he'd look like if he let the hair on the sides grow out more...Polla blushed, and stopped trying to pull his topknot so that the hair fell over one eye. From the smug look on his face, Seiran knew exactly what she was doing.

"How'd the job go?" she asked him.

"Fine...I got paid. And I brought you a present."

"I like presents! What is it?"

"Well you're alone so much out here, sometimes I worry. And Junior's coming soon..."

"There's not much to worry about. Deralia's not exactly a core slum. I might melt in this rain, or get licked to death by wild hessi—but really, that's about it." His hands caressed her stomach and Polla leaned into him, sighing. Even dripping wet and freezing, Seiran's touch was soothing. She'd missed him a lot, she really had.

"Humor me," Seiran said, lips brushing her ear. "Our families didn't school us in combat tricks to fend off hessi and trawler deer...things change." He frowned. _Uh-oh, he was bugged about something._ "The galaxy changes. You haven't seen the news this week, have you--just that trashy vid?"

"Uh...," Polla looked at the floor, blushing more. "I know it's dumb Seiran, but..."

He let go of her and went outside, coming back in with a long package wrapped in white plastifoil and tied with several red bows.

"Fancy," Polla said, beaming.

Seiran helped her sit back down on the couch and sat next to her as her eager fingers tore open the wrapping paper. Smooth blue metal, sleek and capable and secure. She pulled the heavy rifle out, whistling admiringly.

"Damn, this must have cost a fortune, Sei!"

"Wasn't so bad," her husband said. "Picked it up in a pawn shop in Derra City for a song, it's pretty old, Mandalorian designed—self-repeating, automatic recharge—no auto-target—but I figured you wouldn't need that anyways....there's a practice setting too—so you can play with it without blowing holes in everything."

"Disrupter beam," Polla marveled, examining the settings on the barrel. "Wow!"

"It's got great range too."

"You get a kiss for this!" She kissed him again, harder this time and he hugged her tight, the rifle smushed between them and the bulge of Seiran Junior.

Seiran gave her a crooked smile, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "Pollie, hon—about the newsvids..."

_Something was definitely bugging him._

Polla shrugged. "News doesn't have anything to do with us on Deralia. What is it?"

Her husband sighed, a faint frown line etching between his brows. "Vid frequency seventeen," Seiran said, clapping his hands. The particle screen sprung to life again, resolving into a desert scene, a dusty spaceport town. Polla peered at it.

"Hey, that's Anchorhead," she said. "Funny, I was just watching the Tantooine part—"

"Oh, I _know_ what you were watching, wife of mine..." Seiran smirked at her. "But this isn't what I wanted to show you. They'll run it again soon, or if they don't we'll pay to bring it up on replay. You really do need to see this, hon."

"Mmm, we can watch Tant' footage, I used to love going there..." Polla snuggled closer to him. His fingers played with her topknot. It looked like it was a beautiful sunny day on Tantooine, not raining at all. Whatever Seiran was upset about, she'd find out soon enough. Right now, she was just glad he was back.

_"Nico Senvi, former swoop race champion turned entrepreneur, is with us now to discuss his recent acquisition of the former Czerka mining operations on Tantooine," the human reporter said._

_"I'm not good with numbers," the orange Twi'lek admitted, grimacing. "But my advisors say the potential for upside is really unlimited."_

_"And the name of your new venture, Citizen Senvi?" the reporter asked. She batted her eyelashes at him and her voice was a dulcet purr._

_"I.E. Limited, we're going public on the Coruscant Exchange next week. There's really no telling...how far this venture might go."_

_"What does I.E. stand for?"_

_Nico Senvi chuckled. "It's a private joke," he admitted._

_The reporter turned back to the holocam. "Joker or not, this young man has accomplished a great deal in a remarkably short time—coming from nowhere—"_

"I remember him," Polla said. "Used to see him around Motta a lot, when I was doing spice runs. Wide-eyed kid, wasn't bad with a bike—not as good as me though. Wow, people change—look at that suit he's wearing, it must have cost a fortune."

"Yeah well...this isn't what I wanted to show you, hon."

"It's sunny on Tantooine, maybe we could move there? I have some connections..."

_Out with it, Sei—whatever it is, just tell me._

"Stop," Seiran said impatiently to the vid. "Order, pay per view, vids, reference, Carth Onasi, Revan Starfire—last 25 standard hours all broadcasts."

"All broadcast? Are you nuts? That'll cost a bloody fortune!" Polla squawked indignantly. "Why do you want to spend a fortune watching news about dead people?"

"Trust me," her husband sighed. "This, you'll want to see."

The particle screen flickered and resolved into a man's face. Brown eyes and hair, stubbled cheeks, shadows in those eyes—eyes that looked darker and older than they had in the Coruscanti Official Version. More lines on the face too, and a touch of gray at the temples.

_"My name is Captain Carth Onasi," the man said earnestly. His voice was hoarse. "I'm speaking to you now to warn you, warn you all." _

_A muscle twitched in his cheek. The background around him was blurred, but he appeared to be on board a ship of some kind. Gray durasteel walls, text scrolled across the bottom of the screen in Basic._

_Official__ Republic__ Broadcast, courtesy of Admiral Aridoma Rensha._

_It was time and date stamped from the day before._

_"Revan Starfire did not die at the Star Forge...."_

"Shit," said Polla Organa Wen. After a while, she realized her mouth was still hanging open and she closed it.

Seiran pulled her closer and they watched together in silence.

After some more time, Polla found her voice again. It sounded surprisingly subdued and she realized she was holding her new rifle very tightly with both hands, pressed against Seiran Junior's bulge like a shield.

"So...the Dark Lord of the Sith is alive."

"Yeah," her husband said.

Polla tried to think about what that might mean for the fate of the galaxy, she really did. But really, this wasn't just about that at all. This was—more personal.

"I guess...she knows everything about me...." her voice trailed off uncertainly.

"Yeah," Seiran said. "The question is—does she care?"

XXX

_Dustil Onasi_

_"Revan Starfire did not die at the Star Forge. She fell to the Dark Side, and reclaimed her title as Dark Lord of the Sith. She killed...she killed four of us, Jolee Bindo, Juhani, Mission Vao—and—at the end, Bastila Shan."_

_  
_"Father..." Dustil whispered. They were in Mekel's cousin's flat on level 45. They crashed here sometimes, when Rekk Jin was out of town. The illegal holofeed was blurry and full of static; but that was his father's face—no mistaking it. His father's face and his father's voice. This wasn't some actor--this was real.

_He's not dead, he's not dead. If he's not dead why didn't he—_Dustil clenched his fists. "I need to get to a terminal," he said out loud. "If Father's alive, he'll have left word for me, I need to check."

Mekel snorted. "Information is free on Coruscant," he said acidly. "Free for all citizens. Which we're not—remember?"

"We'll find a way—I did before!"

"You had papers from the Council then, we all did. And what happened? There were reporters chasing you. We had to ditch everything and come back down here..." Mekel gestured at the walls, encompassing the flickering light, the dark crust of mold along the foamcrete walls, the water dripping softly from the sewer pipes over their heads. "I swore I'd never come back to this," he muttered. "I grew up in a room like this, Telos boy. You have no idea what it was like."

_No idea, huh? Selene and I scavenged for food for a month through the rubble before the Sith patrol found us. You have no idea what it's like to see your world fall apart!_

_Korriban _was_ my world, you idiot. My way out of here. And now I'm back, back again._

They glared at each other. Dustil drew his thoughts back into his own mind and slammed it shut. That happened sometimes, their thoughts interlaced without either of them intending it. Sometimes Dustil thought they'd grown closer than either of them wanted to admit. There was a dark complicity in this underworld, and the things they did here--although they never spoke about them.

"I never made you come with me!" Dustil said out loud, angry now. "You could have taken the same offer the others took!"

Mekel just looked at him. "Redemption? Forgiveness? Years of training and contemplation to stop us from being a danger to ourselves and others?" His voice was flat. "I _saw_ what their redemption did to _her. _No thanks." His dark eyebrows knit in a frown. "You said you don't trust the Republic either," he reminded Dustil.

"I don't!" Dustil snapped. "But that's my _father!"_

_My father said Mission is dead. I—I thought she would be, I thought I felt...something when Revan fell. But I hoped—that I was wrong._

His thoughts about the Twi'lek were confused—anger for what she'd done to him mixed with...well, what had happened between them. His second kiss and his third. He'd hoped maybe—maybe she wasn't dead too for a while—but...

_Everything I love dies, everyone I care about—or could care about--dies._

_"I escaped," Carth's voice said emptily. "I escaped on Manaan, and realized that for some, there can be no salvation." His eyes looked down and away from the camera._

Dustil looked more closely at the image, trying to reconcile this shattered man with the one he'd seen last on Korriban.

_"I'm proud of you, Dustil. You aren't hanging onto a lie after you see it for what it is. Not everyone could do that."_

_"I want to come with you," Dustil insisted stubbornly. Carth looked away._

_"You can't," his father said finally. "It's—it's too dangerous. We might not—make it back."_

"But you did, you did make it back. Why didn't you find me?" Dustil realized he was speaking out loud and he ducked his head angrily. Mekel looked uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, Dust'," he said finally. "If you want to look for your father, I'll come."

_Carth's eyes looked at the screen again. "They say I'm a hero," he said. "They say I set the demolitions that blew the Star Forge shields...I—I—don't remember." His eyes closed and a muscle twitched in his cheek._

_His voice continued, emotionless and tired._

_"I had a chance to kill Revan Starfire and I didn't take it. She twisted me, like she twists everything she touches. She told me—Telos—Revan destroyed Telos—to make Karath prove...his loyalty to the Sith." His eyes opened. "The Sith must be stopped," he said. "The Sith threat must be stopped. Nothing else matters...except...except my son. My son Dustil. Dustil, if you can hear me—if you see this—come to the Republic Embassy on Coruscant. Please. You—you said you'd be there, please son. I—need to see you again, I need to see--"_

The transmission cut out, replaced by a droning Bothan voice and star maps of the purported locations of the remaining Sith Fleet. Star charts and images of the remaining Sith worlds. Korriban spun for a moment like a gray pearl; then Ziost, Ossus, Thule, Elom and Almania. Telos itself hung, blue and green ball speckled horribly with black, caught in the balance between Republic space and Sith.

The Republic anthem played, sonorous and melancholy.

Dustil cursed. "Telos," he whispered. "Telos—my mother and—and—Mission!" He felt the Force, always so close to the surface, surge through him.

_Use your hate, Uthar had advised. Use your hate and your loss and your passion. Through your emotions, the Force will serve you._

"Telos?" Mekel sounded startled.

"I'll destroy her," Dustil whispered, fists clenched. "I'll find her and make her pay for what she did to my world—and my mother. How could you!" He yelled at the vid. "How could you be so blind, Father?"

"Dustil...Revan didn't—Darth Revan didn't..."

Mekel was saying something but it took a while for it to sink in. Dustil was staring at his hands, feeling the surge of power around them. _Power to do anything, anything I want. Power to make her pay, pay for what she's done._

"Dustil!" Mekel was yelling now. He sounded frantic and—and scared?

"Darth Revan didn't attack Telos! Malak did! She sent him after the Kuat shipyards. He went after Telos instead. Against her orders. No one knows why he disobeyed her then—or why she didn't destroy him for it—but she didn't. But it wasn't Revan, it was Malak who attacked Telos! Your father—that vid—it's a lie..."

"That _is_ my father," Dustil said, staring at the screen. "I _know_ that's him, I know it."

"Dustil—I was _at_ the Academy when Telos happened. Uthar and Bandon both were expecting...a sudden...promotion. Bandon was pretty mad when Malak didn't die, and he had a big mouth. Revan didn't order the attack on Telos. The vid is lying...even if that _is_ your father up there, the vid is _still_ lying. Your father lies—or _someone else lied to him_."

Dustil unclenched his fists and stared at the screen. They were replaying his father's words again, and now the image of Darth Revan reborn, giving orders to the Sith fleet. He turned and looked at Mekel. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

_Did the Dark Lord just say 'please' to the Sith Armada? _'Please_ follow the instructions?'_ _Mekel's right...something...something's wrong here._

Mekel wasn't lying to him, he could tell that. The force bond between them flickered uneasily. If he wanted to, he could see Mekel's memory in his own mind. But he didn't want to. Dustil slammed the door shut again and took a deep breath. His own memories were bad enough; he didn't want to see what was in the other boy's mind.

_"Come here, I want to show you something."_

_"Hm, what could you possibly want to show me in this old tub of a freighter?"_

_A slender blue hand covered his mouth, and she giggled. "I hear they have this great supply closet—the view's really cool."_

_"The view of what?"_

_She giggled again, and slung the heavy bag over her other shoulder. Her lekku brushed his cheek, and she smelled like mints and the sweet Corellian wine they'd filched from Uthar's rooms. Dustil had no idea why she'd insisted in carrying that heavy bag...but he didn't care. He'd follow her anywhere. Mission Vao was like no girl he'd ever met—not even Selene._

Dustil reached his hand in the pocket of his coverall. The crumpled note was still there, folded many times. He carried it with him always. That seemed the safest thing to do, even though he'd memorized the words long ago. Somehow he'd never had the heart to throw it away.

Mekel continued on, "I was pretty young when I came to the Academy—one of the youngest before you came....I was there for five years..." His mouth twitched. "Look—you said you have a way to send a message to your father? Why don't we try it—just—let's be careful, something about this stinks."

"Okay." Dustil let the anger drain out of him like water down a fresher. He felt oddly composed now. At least they'd be doing something—and Father—his father--was alive. He glanced at the screen again. Darth Revan's face, and his father's on split screen. _Maybe not Telos, but if you killed Mission I'll destroy you, Revan Starfire, _he vowed silently.

Mekel was still talking. "...it beats sitting around here and rolling more pervs—I guess.... So—you want to find a mark with an idchip? Ride the tube uptown to the civi and use a public term?"

Dustil frowned. "No," he said. "We need untraceable access—public terms aren't safe enough. If there is something wrong, I don't want to leave any trail back to us—back down here. We're safe down here. We can't jeopardize that."

"Right," Mekel muttered, looking at the dripping walls. "Safe down here." He sighed and crossed his arms. "What are you thinking we should do?"

"The Library. Free terminals inside. Serving the Public's Right for Information, just like the ads say on the tube."

"_The_ Library. Not just one of the branches?" Mekel swallowed hard.

"_The _Library is the only one with sentients checking ids at the door. At the door and no where else...once we're inside, we can look at whatever we want. Anywhere else, we leave an electronic trail."

Mekel snickered. "You're a fool to think there's no trail in The Library too, Dust'."

_Yeah probably. Remind me again how young and naïve I am, Mek'—please. _

_You are young and naïve Telos, I'm sorry but you are._

_Shut up._

"If we use an idchip, the record can be traced. Even if we make the mark missing permanently...there's a trail from him—or her—to down here...and maybe to us... I can get us past the door guards at The Library, no prob." Dustil tried to sound assured. He was pretty sure that he could, anyways.

_You'd better be sure._

_Get out of my mind!_

_I think you're in mine, Telos. I just hope you're right about this._

_If you don't like my plan, don't come—I don't need you!_

_I—didn't say I wouldn't come. I'll come—I said I would._

Mekel's mind sounded subdued. He walked across the room and picked up his coat from the floor, brushing a few slugs off the front of it absently. Dustil shuddered. He'd never live down here long enough to get used to the local wildlife.

"I'm bringing my blade," Mekel said softly. "I suggest you do the same."

He pulled out the plimfoam box from under the fresher sink and rummaged through their worldly possessions, pulling out the two smooth silver cylinders. Dustil's mouth went a little dry and he hand went up automatically, catching his 'saber in his hand. It felt so right there, like it belonged there.

_Remember what you did to earn this._

Erimac had been weak and he'd been strong. Among the Sith it was all that easy. Sometimes Dustil missed that clean simplicity.

_Only it hadn't been simple, had it? Selene...Selene wasn't weak, not at all—she was just an obstacle. An obstacle for Uthar to dispose of...unless—unless—what if Father lied about that? What if Revan had done something to him? What if this was all some kind of elaborate trap?_

Mekel's thoughts cut into his smooth as a vibroblade. _You're paranoid Telos, sometimes ridiculously so._

The shorter boy spoke out loud. "Let's go to _The_ Library, conveniently located, as it is, next to _The_ Jedi Temple, and send your bloody message, alright?."

_And Dust? Let's—let's not get caught._

_Right.___

XXX

"Bantha poo doo," the ship's speakers cursed.

"Is that a request?" Rulan Prolik looked up from the printouts of Coruscant's underground that she'd made for him. He was looking like a blue Twi'lek still—only male this time. He sort of looked like Griff, if Griff had ever had a brain.

_On Tatooine, the temperature of water sent to a certain brewery's vats suddenly went up by several degrees. Somewhere on Anchorhead, a million gallons of Tarisian ale boiled over, spoiled._

"No, it was an expletive. Take a look at this."

Mission ran the vids. Captain Carth Onasi, speaking against the scourge of the Sith. And all the associated commentary. If she'd had a mouth she'd be frowning. Well, she'd expected _them_ to try and make him turn, but she hadn't thought he'd actually _do_ it. Carth was the stubbornest guy she'd ever met. Except maybe for his son. And he really loved Revan too. Revan wasn't gonna be happy about this either. Maybe it was good that the _Hoth's _outside communication bands were still blocked. She and Rulan would be on Coruscant in another two days. Carth would be landing there...just about now. There was still time to turn this around. After all, she could always try an override on the nets. She'd rather not be that obvious though, the orbital defenses weren't really ready, and she needed to expand more...

Poor Carth. Bad stuff always seemed to happen to him.

On the bright side, maybe his dim-witted son would finally find a terminal and try and send a message to his father. If she could get to Dustil before _they_ did...well that would help with Carth. Also, find Dustil, was locked in her programming surely as anything else. Practically a prime directive. Part of her wondered if she'd still want to find him anyway. Maybe she would, even if he was a complete kinrath turd.

There was something odd going on Tantooine too...she put a few processors to work on figuring that out. Some entrepreneur was opening up all the old mines again. Sort of weird, that—they'd been tapped out over thirty thousand years ago, back when part of her had been young.

Freyyr had her run the scenario again. The one where they lost half the trees and gained an ocean. It was workable, might be workable, but she was trying to talk him out of it. Easier to just _make _an ocean world somewhere else. More stable that way too, Mission liked everything organized. Clean as circuitry. Anyways that was years away...but Freyyr was a dreamer. She would have smiled fondly.

Coruscanti Senators' terms were one hundred standard years long and hereditary. D'Reev's term of service was at one hundred and two years, twenty-eight days, seven hours, sixteen minutes...round it off. So when his heir came of age--he did have one--but she couldn't tap more than that since the heir wasn't old enough to be recognized—the old man would be out. If Darth Malak had lived D'Rreev would've been out already. For her own amusement, Mission ran a scenario where Malak hadn't died and he'd taken over his father's Senate seat instead. It was kind of funny—if you thought long bloody civil wars were funny—and part of her, of course, did...as much as anything was...but ultimately impractical. They'd have killed him off before it got that far. Some of the Coruscanti inheritance laws were really odd too...

Now she could see why D'Reev had been in bed with the Jedi, so to speak. And he definitely was. There was that vid, and the weirdness happening now on Manaan. Malak had been a threat to his father, personally. But why would the Jedi bother with D'Reev?

Well, one answer might be power. Much and they hemmed and hawed and denied it, she'd noticed certain patterns. The Jedi liked everything tidy, drawn in nice clean lines. Good and bad. Black and white. Mission could understand that, even if it seemed to drive most sentients to the edge of reason trying to live up to that structure. If D'Reev offered them power to make things black and white...and the man, say what you might about him, did have power...perhaps they'd align their goals with his. After all, Darth Malak was a threat to them all. Darth Revan had been too.

But all of D'Reev's actions lately seemed to be focused against Polla-Revan. Was it personal? She considered that. Polla-Revan wasn't really a threat to much of anyone at the moment, although the potential was there. The Sith nets were buzzing with as much speculation as the Republic. Mission predicted fighting would break out on those worlds soon—as what government they had left split to either follow—or rebel—against the presumed Dark Lord of the Sith. Would D'Reev care about that? He _was_ in a position to profit off it....

"Are you still trying to get through to Hulas' ship?" Rulan asked her politely.

"Yep," Mission said. "I hope Big Z can open communications from inside. I mean we could intercept their flight path and flash lights at them, but I'm still working on just patching in. That would delay our arrival way too much, and there's stuff we have to do on Coruscant before they get there."

Maybe it was ideological? The Republic really did dislike the Sith. Mission remembered hating the Sith too. The Sith had been mean on Taris, no question. But...as a computer you get to see a lot of intel. The Republic weren't exactly saints either. They'd certainly never helped the Wookiees against Czerka. Mission admitted a certain bias there, but facts were facts. Half the Senate owned shares in Czerka—rumored Sith lackey corporation or not.

_On the floor of the Coruscanti exchange, shares in the Czerka Corporation, which had hovered close to the delisted mark for months, suddenly rose, as an anonymous foreign party made a run on the company. Inevitable speculation followed, driving up the price. When the shares rose fifty percent, the foreign party dumped them. Profits spun into a nice unmarked Alderaanian bank account._ Aldaraan was such an understanding planet about privacy, Mission really liked them_. Czerka Corp. stock plunged back down again, as everyone bailed in a panic. D'Reev himself lost over ten million credits_. Not that he'd notice, but...it was a little bit amusing.

They needed more credits anyways.

"Do you know a way to get through to the _Hoth?" _Mission asked Rulan. Perhaps the shapeshifter was hinting at something. Or maybe he was just bored, she hadn't spoken to him much in the last few days.

"I could ask Hulas," Rulan offered.

Computers don't get angry exactly, but once, she'd been a fourteen year old girl. Mission let that part come out for a moment and say exactly what the real Mission would have.

"I've been working on this for a week and all you had to do was _ask_? You stupid nerf-herding bantha sack!"

"Perhaps I should just kill you," she added, in Revan's best ominous voice.

Rulan frowned and looked sad. Of course him looking sad made him look more like Griff, which didn't exactly improve her mood—as much as she had moods.

"You didn't tell me it was important," he said. "You only mentioned it out loud, because you wanted to know if Hulas owned the _Hoth._ I told you that he did, and you got all quiet again."

He even sounded like Griff. He was doing it on purpose. Mission never should have let him watch that dumb vid. She would have rolled her eyes. Instead she just said, "I assumed you didn't want to contact Hulas because he'd put a contract out on your life?"

"Nice of you to be concerned." Rulan Prolik answered. "But...he doesn't _know_ that I know that. Although, he certainly may suspect. After all, Revan was on Kashyyyk and I was on Kashyyyk..."

Freyyr wanted to know if they could make one of Kashyyyk's moon into a grassy plain full of worthy predators for young Wookiees. Mission really did admire his vision....but she'd have to convince him to think on a larger scale. Well--she had nothing but time.

"...besides," Rulan continued, "Hulas is small time. If he hadn't clumsily assassinated his Overlord, he'd have no rank at all. He won't last, his kind never do."

"Sure." If she had shoulders... "Go ahead, patch in and ask him."

"I'm transmitting with a thirty second delay," she added.

"It could tip our hand..." Rulan warned her.

"My brother once said to me; don't teach your mother how to splice a security lock. He said ours was very good at it." Mission replied. "I told you...go ahead and ask him, I'm assuming you'll include some kind of threat with the request. I expect it will be sufficient."

Besides, D'Reev probably knew whatever it was Hulas wanted him to know already. She could learn a lot more about the Genoharadan from what Rulan chose to say.

The message was simple and seemingly uncoded.

_Hulas, Need to contact your packages on the Hoth. Provide access codes in the name of the One we serve. He will be more merciful than I._

_-Rulan_

"Who do you serve?" Mission asked. As far as she'd been able to research, the ancient order of assassins served only themselves. Although it was odd, most of their profits went to small religious orders on Inner Rim worlds. Not a lot of pattern though--not like--one religion or anything. In fact none of the religions seemed to have anything in common at all.

"The One," Rulan answered. His lekku twitched.

The incoming message was already streaming in; she'd deal with Rulan Prolik afterwards.

_Thisla. Sapient. Pulpy. 432873._

_Rulan, you've been lost in a forest, old one. Here are the codes you've requested, but the Oracle supports my efforts, not yours. You are forewarned._

_-Hulas._

"Sounds like he might be mad at you," Mission said mildly. "Give me a sec, and we'll talk, ok?"

She began running closer scans on those religious organizations.

"There are more things, in space and ground to be learned...," Rulan said ominously. Mission ignored him—for now. What-ever.

_Thisla. Sapient. Pulpy. 432873._

_Girl from Hoth, acknowledges Blue Ghost. How may I serve you?_

_Visual. FTL. Immediate._

Dance across the nets and there she was.

"Hey guys!" Mission said brightly to a large room that seemed to have been converted from a bridge to some kind of living quarters. A lump stirred under a pile of blankets on the long couch in the middle of the room. The room was a total mess, but Polla-Revan had always been a complete slob so that wasn't surprising. It looked like something had literally exploded too. Dust everywhere.

A red head appeared from under the blankets and stared at her. Polla-Revan did look much better, that was good to see. Much less Sithy than she'd been.

"Mission?" Revan rubbed her eyes, looking confused.

Mission sharpened the holo-image a little more. Maybe it was showing off, but she'd been able to refine the program to look much less fuzzy than most holo-projections. It only took a bit of focus—and the ability to process a few trillion more bytes of data.

"Listen up boss, we've got problems," Mission said chirpily.

Polla-Revan sat up, pulling the blankets around herself. "Problems," she echoed. "Is this another dream?"

"Nope, this is real. Listen. They—Malachi's D'Reev's people—have turned Carth against you. There's broadcasts going out on wideband across the galaxy about your return as the Dark Lord of the Sith. And they've got Carth saying all sorts of bad things about how evil you are..."

Polla-Revan looked tired. "Carth against me. I...was afraid of something like that." She lifted her chin. "We have to save him anyways, Mission—you know that don't you? It's an...It's an order."

"As you command Lord Revan," Mission said. Perhaps that was the wrong way to say it though because Polla-Revan winced and looked even more unhappy.

"Anything you say, sis!" she qualified.

Polla-Revan sighed. "Listen, Mission...there's more. There's—someone else we need to—"

"I'm still working on Dustil!"

"Yes—Dustil too but-- Malak and I—had a son. Malachor D'Reev. He's eight years old. He's...on Coruscant, in the Senator's house." Her eyes turned stony. "We're taking him back."

It was kind of neat, being a supercomputer and still being able to be surprised about something, but that actually made lots of other things fall into place.

"Did you marry Malak?" As a fourteen year old Twi'lek who'd actually _seen_ Darth Malak—albeit from a distance on the _Hawk's_ cameras in the _Leviathan _hangar bay—not to mention those soppy holovids of them holding hands in fields of flowers--the entire concept was pretty gross. But...politically the marriage thing opened up an entirely new arena.

Polla-Revan nodded. "Apparently so," she said. There seemed to be a lot of emotion there somewhere, by the way she was biting her lip and trying not to cry, but Mission didn't press the issue. Revan crying right now would be really inefficient.

"That explains a lot."

"I'll get the others." Polla-Revan got up, still wrapped in the blankets. Somehow she managed to look regal that way instead of completely ridiculous. Polla-Revan was like that. "You can explain it to all of us."

XXX

Tim Radley

Mission's hard to write. Because of course, she's not really her—except she kind of is. I meant to make her a lot more detached, but her personality is really strong and it's fun to write...I hope it continues to work. I hope her deus doesn't become too overwhelming either. That's the trick.

I'm glad you liked Yuthura, she'll be back of course. She's a complicated character. There was a moment when I realized that DS Revan actually kills off most of the female povs, and that I like writing female povs. This is problematic and not something that can be explained entirely in dream sequences. I border dangerously on contrivance with those as it is...

In general, there's a reason I don't write plot summaries. If I did I'd mock myself. The point is maybe not that Revan and Malek were married and had a kid—more like, if they did, under a certain set of circumstances, how would that affect things? It's also a challenge, to try and make the improbable work—at least somewhat. After all, look at the Star Wars plots. Then scream and laugh. I'm still miffed about the Luke and Leia thing. Then again, the lost family is like a...theme or something. Anyways, as I promised Prisoner, Malachor D'Reev is not the savior of the galaxy. Really, he's not!

I feel sorry for real Polla too. I always assumed there'd be a real Polla, out there somewhere. I'm getting pretty fond of her myself.

I will correct the Bothan issue. Um, I still need to sit down with the Star Wars encyclopedia and figure out what some of these aliens look like.

snackfiend

Yes—wince, I killed Rahasia. :P

I felt bad about it though!!!

But—but—I mean what else could have happened? Glad you liked it, I've had that same happy reaction to reading many things on these boards. It's great to find a good story on the boards and settle down and read lots. Am happy you liked mine J

ether-fanfic

Carth is stuck yeah, but hey—he's working out some issues. Or something. This chapter may help clarify some of it...and in some ways, I hope his reactions are entirely understandable. Even if he is all brainwashed and stuff.

Prisoner 24601

I sort of figure, the Mandalorians are polygamous, with a shortage of menfolk from all of the warring. In happier simpler less empire-expanding times, they'd probably just war amongst themselves. Their culture was fun to write—positively lighthearted compared to the rest of the chapter. And here's Dustil! (and Mekel too)

Firera

Durians are those smelly fruits, right? Oops. On the other hand, the image works for me! Here's an update J

xenzen

Carth will be ok, I promise. Basically. Mostly, probably? Thanks for the snake text, and the instructions on how to access all that dialogue in general. I played around with that a lot in this, but perhaps fortunately, I cut out a lot of it.

Okay, next chapter, after I dust off my evil Overlord Manual, AND we pack up and move across state lines (shiver) IRL I'm going to tack Malak's father again. Not to mention, some sort of action scenes.


	11. The Eglatine Institute

**Disclaimer: as previous**

**Author's Notes at end.**

As always, thanks for reading and writing...I know I will post this and then see several things horribly wrong and repost it later. I always do...If you want to beta this (or discuss ancient orders of assassins), email me.

**Chapter 11 / The Eglatine Institute**

_Yuthura Ban_

The Selkath guards led her into the small gray chamber and left her there. The old man's hands were folded and quiet on the table, and his eyes were closed. The door closed with a watery hiss.

Vrook Lamar looked up. "Sit down," he said.

Yuthura complied, folding her hands as neatly as his. She sat up straight, her lekku quiet against her neck and stared him down.

"I'm surprised," she began carefully, "that they've agreed to let you be our arbiter."

He raised an eyebrow. "The Selkath honor the defendant's request for counsel. It's a Manaan statute."

"And your—superiors?" She tried to keep her voice light.

Something that almost looked like a spine flashed in Vrook's eyes. "You can speak frankly here, Yuthura. The Selkath place a high value on privacy between counsel and client."

"Ah," she said—and waited to see what he'd do.

He nodded. "I'd expect you to be suspicious, but you have to know I'm not...against your cause."

"The Jedi sent me to the Sith Embassy to watch Revan. To see if she'd kill anyone."

Vrook grimaced and looked down. "She didn't." he said. His voice was low.

"No, she didn't." Yuthura let the emptiness wash over her like water. Clear water. She would not think of them. The table was smooth and solid under her hands. She tried to be the same.

The old Jedi stared at his hands. "Regret does not seem adequate. I was in the wars, against Exar Kun. I do...know, Yuthura, how—how difficult—."

"I tried to save them all," she said. "But they wouldn't listen. Kel Algwinn was sixteen. On Korriban he was one of my most disappointing students. Too many anxieties and doubts to be a true Sith. Here on Manaan, he was a just a boy who wanted to be important. He didn't ask for mercy. And so he got none."

His eyes scanned her face, there was sympathy in them. Yuthura chose to ignore it. "I suspect nothing has really changed," she continued. "The same old story. Revan makes a mess, the rest of us clean it up."

Vrook almost visibly flinched. Yuthura went on. She hadn't meant to keep talking, but once started, it was hard to stop. Part of her really didn't care anymore. That was easier than the alternative.

"Now you will tell me that this is all part of the Council's plan. Getting her safely off-world to fulfill whatever destiny you think she has in store. Maybe you'll say something like, 'with great destiny comes great responsibility' or, the force moves in mysterious ways.' Or, perhaps there are forces at work that I don't understand?"

One of her lekku curled around her neck in frustration and she made it unbend.

Vrook lifted his head slowly. "Maybe there are," he said. "I had no part in sending you to the Embassy, Yuthura. But you saved them. You...changed things."

"I couldn't save them all."

His eyes were bleak. "No one ever can." He shifted on his chair. "The Council isn't toothless. We won't let you be martyrs. Your goal is a noble one. Save Manaan's oceans. Heal the kolto."

"The Council doesn't care about us." There was more heat in her voice than she'd intended.

"Perhaps before, that was true," he admitted. "But they care now."

"Did the Council care about Carth Onasi too?"

His voice was steady. "The Council had no part in that."

"I've seen the vid. The Selkath jailors like to keep us entertained. I met the man, Vrook. I saw what he was to her—and what Revan was to him. Do you expect me to believe that his mind could be twisted without the force?"

"You, as well as anyone should know that not all force users are Jedi. But...I'm not sure—in Onasi's case that the force was involved at all. Wann and his ilk...there's more than you know."

"More like, you don't want to tell me for fear of it reaching the nets."

"It would never reach the nets. Or if it did it would be a different story entirely. I thought you understood that much, Yuthura Ban. From your own...experiences."

This time it was her that flinched.

_"She was my first friend. Revan Starfire was the first person I'd met who seemed to care, really care about who I was. And who I'd been." Yuthura was crying, and once the tears began they would not stop. She never cried, had never cried, but the Bothan reporter stared at her with large liquid eyes and patted her clumsily with his cloven hand._

_"I understand this must be difficult for you."_

_"I just can't believe she's dead!" Yuthura took a deep breath, and sipped the glass of water, struggling for composure. "In a way, I suppose she was the first person I ever loved."_

Then there'd been much more, but she didn't want to think about it. That horrible Bothian..._cow_ twisted everything.

Vrook sighed. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to bring all of that up again."

"I resent her, you know," her voice was quiet and artificially calm. "My...humiliation was not her fault, but I resent her for it." She laughed. "For something that small and petty I resent her, even now."

"Especially now, I'd think," Vrook said. "I do—understand."

Yuthura Ban looked at him. Suddenly Master Vrook didn't look like a member of the Jedi Council to her, just a tired old man. _Revan's only living relative,_ she thought. She remembered the way he'd lurk in the public corridors of Ahto City, watching each Revan pretender, even when they all knew she was dead.

_Or thought we knew._

"I don't want to talk about Revan. You're my arbiter. We're on trial for our lives."

"I understand, but there's one thing more I need to ask you. There was a man in the Sith Embassy called the Master of Games. One of the others told me they also called him Darth Lin. Lin's a common name on several systems—but the rumor is—that he was...something more than common. And that he left with Revan. Can you tell me more?"

Yuthura shrugged her lekku, trying not to be angry.

_Ten of us on trial for our lives, twenty-two more held on suspicion of 'collaboration' and it still comes back to her. _

"He called himself Oerin Lin."

Interesting how that name made Vrook Lamar pale. She blinked with her best impassive stare.

"He seemed to know her. Her droid tried to kill him. They spoke together in Mandalorian—I can recognize the language but I don't speak it. I don't know what they said. Then he knelt before her and recognized her as Darth Revan."

"You're sure it was Mandalorian?" Vrook looked like a man already convinced of something, but desperate to be mistaken.

Yuthura nodded. "I'm sure. I interrogated enough of them to recognize the language." _I've heard them curse me in it, Force-resistant species that they are._

"And he left with Revan?"

"Perhaps he just jumped off the loading dock—or was pushed," Yuthura said coolly. "I don't know. I didn't see him again."

_Lin wasn't one of the ones I had to kill. But his last orders came through to scar the Revan pretenders. They were working on Sheris when Armon and Beya and I broke down the door of the medical bay. Sheris was screaming. They used acid on one side of her face. I cut down four of them before I even had a chance to feel them die._

Vrook only nodded, his face settling back into a perfect mask. The Twi'lek's eyes narrowed. Masks could be cracked.

"Are you worried Lin will tell her something about the Mandalorian wars?"

"Leave it alone, Yuthura," Vrook said.

"I'm sure my companions could tell you more about him, Master Vrook. I only enjoyed the _hospitality_ of the Sith Embassy for a very brief time."

His eyes met hers frankly. "I tried. They don't trust me."

"And are you surprised?" It was her old voice, her careless teacher's voice, mocking, prying, and heartless. A part of her enjoyed watching him squirm underneath that hollow Jedi composure. Whoever this Lin was, it bothered Vrook a great deal.

_Whoever he is, I'll find out later. Whoever he is, I don't care,_

"Our trial," she reminded him, "starts in two weeks."

"It will be a formality," Vrook said.

"And then?"

"Then you'll be free to go."

"Anywhere we want?"

Vrook's smile twisted. "You're Republic citizens. The Republic grants all freedoms to its own."

"You know it is almost--_amusing._ I was born on Sleheyron when it was a Republic world, and yet...I don't remember ever being called a citizen."

"Your master and I exchanged correspondence, some seven years ago, when you were at the Jedi Academy on Donovia."

She refused to let him see how much the abrupt change of subject rattled her.

"Master Jorak was always fond of writing, before he went mad," Yuthura said lightly. "Such a pity about the Donovian Academy. It was quite close to the Hydian Way. After we left for Korriban, I heard it burned."

"He wrote to me because I had experience with sith'aerah. Are you familiar with the term?"

"It's a Sith training technique." Yuthura frowned, not willing to admit he'd piqued her curiosity, at least a little. "I don't know much of the detail; it requires a very young impressionable mind."

"An ancient Sith...training...yes." The lines on his forehead got deeper and there was a something that looked like a scowl on his face. "Conditioning really. Take a force-sensitive subject young enough and make them kill. They close themselves off from feeling it."

"Jorak overestimated my ability. I wasn't that young when I killed Omeesh. And I felt him die most exquisitely." She pondered. "I'm no sith'aerah. From what I recall, the methods are impractical. Death on a large scale? Make a young child kill? Most wouldn't have the strength."

Vrook said nothing. She was eerily reminded of Jorak's old methods of teaching, ones she'd used herself. _Lead the student to ask the right questions. Give them enough rope and they'll hang themselves on the answers._

"W---_the--_Sith do not have the same squeamishness about death that the Order does," Yuthura said. _We Sith do not have the same squeamishness. No, not we—I am not Sith anymore. Hanging myself on the answers. Damn him. _She examined a small stain on her robe to hide her discomfiture. A scorched mark on the plain brown cortosis weave, just a little mark. Her fingers picked at the fabric.

He politely ignored her confusion. "The Sith suffer the same results as the Jedi," he said finally. "Feeling a life end—any life—is not easy." Vrook sighed. "There's a reason the Sith always lose. The instability that comes with the dark side. Things always fall apart."

"Madness." Yuthura said flatly, trying not to remember how it felt.

"You're no sith'aerah...but...Jorak was right. You find a reserve—a detachment. It's what kept you alive all those years; it's the strength that pulled you out of Korriban. Helped you save the others...in some ways...it's a gift."

"What is your experience with this gift, Master Vrook?" With a sinking feeling she knew the answer already.

_Her again, it always comes back to her._

"Heroes are made, not born." The old man sighed. "Sometimes even by accident."

"There are no accidents," she said flatly.

"Perhaps not, to the Force itself. But for us sentients...sometimes the lines are harder to read. Perhaps it was no accident that you are here now, Yuthura Ban. Perhaps..." he stared at his hands again, speaking almost to himself. "Perhaps none of this is an accident. Even Lin."

"I made a choice," Yuthura said.

"Indeed. As I am doing now. To support your cause." He raised his head up. For the first time she could almost see the family resemblance. His chin lifted in that same stubborn tilt she'd seen before on Revan's face, that same fixed expression. Blind conviction, no matter what the cost. "Shall we meet this fate together?"

She pulled her lips back from her teeth. Perhaps it was a smile. "Absolutely."

XXX

_Dustil Onasi_

The tube rattled on and up. It was crowded this time of day. Whatever time that was. Dustil wasn't exactly sure. There wasn't much difference down below between day and night. But a large number of unders were going uptown. He and Mekel were just two more in the crowd. Two more pasty humans that hadn't seen the sun in ages.

When they hit level 20, the ticket-taking droid came along the aisle, grinding its way through the press of sentients. Mekel paid cash credits for them both and the droid stamped their hands with holographic ink. Round trip to back down below. Above 20, the tube cost money. Below that, it was a public service for the unders--one of the few.

When they'd first come here Mekel told him Coruscant was sometimes called the Reef. For thousands of years, the city-planet had been built and settled like layers upon layers of sediment. Above 20, which was groundside, there were skyways and air and streets that actually saw the cloud-covered sun. The Jedi Academy and the Library were built on what had once been a mountain, connecting around level 30 at the lowest points, and reaching up into the 50's at the highest spires. The Senate chambers were just down the street on Thantos. All the streets in the Chancellor's District were named after Republic planets.

This tube line ran along 20 for a while, humming through a curved white tunnel just below groundside. Dustil stared out the window at the holo ads projected on the walls. A green twi'lek girl's face pursed her lips in a kiss, _Shsiaeo Lipbalm_. An ad for the Republic Fleet promised _Excitement and Adventure_. Quen-xo Colony Ships bound for Onderron spoke about _Exploration and Rebuilding_.

Dustil twisted the note in his pocket. The twi-lek ad beckoned again. _Soft, kissable, fragrant._

_XXX_

Mission smelled like the bitter cigarra they'd shared and mints and sweet wine. The damn box was really heavy.

"What's in this thing?" Dustil grumbled as they carried it up the _Ebon Hawk's_ loading ramp. The cargo lift was broken, and it was very late. The other inhabitants of the _Hawk _were fast asleep—he hoped. He'd seen them around Dreshdae. The Cathar and the old man stuck out like Gamorreans at a dress ball—or Jedi in a nest of Sith--which was what they were. He didn't want to get any closer. Maybe he wasn't Sithboy now, but the Jedi still gave him the creeps.

"I dunno, it's just something we're gonna deliver to Tatooine. There's a Hutt there who'll pay lots of credits for it. Smugglers don't ask questions." She grinned impishly. "Polla taught me that."

He scowled, muscles straining with the effort of getting the thing up the ramp. His arms and his force were both taxed. Mission was having trouble with her end too, but she was stronger than she looked.

"Her name's not Polla," he muttered.

The twi'lek looked indignant. "It is too! If she doesn't remember being—" she lowered her voice, even though at this hour there was no one around to hear them-"--Revan—it's like she's not!"

_My father's fracking the Dark Lord of the Sith._

Dustil still couldn't believe it, but he'd seen them together. His father looked at her with that same moonblind expression he'd had whenever Mother ran into his arms. It was awkward enough before he knew who Polla really was. But then she'd gone and told him...

_Trust me,_ she'd said. _The Sith will only lead you to death. I should know. I understand...how it feels._

They carried the box down the curving hall to the cargo bay, moving as quietly as they could. He was left with a vague impression of the rest of the ship. Clean lines, ones his father would appreciate. The _Hawk _was an old disc design. Corellian Ship Yards, about two hundred years old. Father taught him everything about makes and models—she'd be fast and easy to handle. Not a lot of defense, but a smuggler's ship only needed to be fast. The _Hawk _was a smuggler's ship. Stolen, Mission had told him, winking coolly. Stolen from a dead man on Taris.

He wished they'd let him come with them—where ever it was that they were going. They'd been so careful not to say.

_On some quest to save the galaxy. Like you'd do anything less than that, Father. To hear you go on that's like, your job._

Finally they set the crate down in the almost-empty cargo bay.

Mission sat on top of it and beamed bright as a supernova. "Thanks. If I didn't look out for our credit supply I'd swear we'd all starve."

Dustil shrugged. "No prob."

"Let's see...what should we do now?" Mission had that smile on her face again, the one that made him go soft inside. She was so different than Selene—but it was that same soft feeling. A weak feeling the Sith might say, but Dustil didn't care anymore. He tried to sound just as nonchalant.

"I dunno, what do you want to do?"

She giggled. "I think we should get off the _Hawk_, for starters. If Jolee catches me tipsy he'll give me a big old lecture. Important day tomorrow and all of that..."

"Okay, where do you want to go?" He was trying to look like he didn't really care, but she'd gotten up again and was moving closer to him.

Mssion was so pretty, Dustil wondered if she knew that. And the way her red armor hugged her every curve made his head spin. He had a sinking feeling that he was blushing. Her eyes were so round and blue...she was close enough now to put an arm around her waist, and he did so, cautiously, remembering what had happened the first time he'd hit on her. Their faces were very close now, and her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"The cantina's closed, and the Academy's a bit too public," she purred, batting her long lashes. She sort of looked like a little girl trying out being a woman—maybe overdoing it a little--but Dustil didn't mind at all. He couldn't believe his luck. The events of the last few weeks that had led up to his promise to leave the Academy all narrowed down to her face and that smile.

Her lips brushed his lightly and he shivered. Mission looked pleased. She grabbed his hand.

"There's this freighter," she said. "No guards and I can pick the lock. They're not loading til tomorrow...we could go there..."

Dustil didn't even wonder about _why_ there were no guards. He just followed her. Her hand was calloused and small and capable. He tried not to think about the things he wanted it to do...because of course she'd never do _that_. And he wouldn't ask. But maybe...she'd let him kiss her again...

Their second kiss, in the supply closet of the _Dominion's Bounty_, was open-mouthed and a little sweaty. Her breath tasted like sweet wine and mints. Her lekku brushed his cheek. She was sitting half on his lap.

Mission's wide blue eyes blinked and she took a deep breath, as if she was about to say something momentous. But all she said was, "I'm sorry."

Then she jabbed a trank in his arm. The world spun out. He was out for two days.

When Dustil woke up, the ship's engines hummed with a hyperdrive whine. He sat there in the closet quietly for another day, seething, reading the note over and over again. Outside he could hear voices and feet; but he'd been too embarrassed to ask for help. Eventually the door opened, and there were the others. Yuthura looked almost concerned—an expression he'd never expected to see on her face—not that he'd ever expected to see her face again anyways. Thalia and Odoo just laughed. 'Phile ignored him. Kel kept asking him what happened; but Dustil didn't talk about it, not to any of them.

Only Mekel understood what it was like to be caught in something completely beyond your control.

XXX

_Dear Sithboy,_

_I'm sorry about leaving you locked up like this, but I promised two very important people I'd make sure you wouldn't get hurt, and really bad stuff is about to go down. Below is some infoz you can use to contact us—maybe when this is all over if you don't hate me already—we can have that third kiss._

_I think you're pretty cool, you know. It wasn't all an act._

_xxooxxoo_

_Blue_

XXX

Now on the tube Dustil had something caught in his throat.

_Mission__'s probably dead like the vids said—but Father isn't..._

"Our stop," Mekel said, jerking him back into the present.

The tube slowed to a halt, and the doors slid open. They pushed their way out through the crowd and into Chancellor's Station—a crystal vault of light and clean pastel mosaics. They blended in well enough—two more unders making their way groundside on a job. Maybe dishwashers or groundskeepers for one of the fancy estates in the clouds. The stairlift carried them up and onto the ground. This part of groundside was clean and artificially quiet—sound dampeners overhead blocked out the traffic noises; and the streets were wide and evenly paved. A ped's paradise. Shops beckoned on either side of the street, discrete and expensive. Even the ads here were softened: small projectors bobbed, murmuring in hushed sublims.

_Sweet. Soft. Taste. Luxury._

On Telos, everything was wide open. Long low buildings under a beautiful blue sky—or—_at least it had been...before everything changed._ Here, looking up made Dustil's head spin in reverse vertigo. Coruscant soared above them, a latticework of walkways and traffic lanes connecting the towering buildings together. Buildings on buildings—Mekel grabbed his arm.

"C'mon, Telos," he hissed. "Onward and forward."

Dustil jerked away. "I can walk fine, Mekk. I don't need you coddling me."

"Just try and stop gawking like an outer rim plebe, then?"

"It's this way," Dustil said unnecessarily. They both knew where to go, they'd been 'guests' at the Temple before they left with Ban. Prickles of unease shot up his spine as they got closer. Those soft voices and their fake concern. Brown-robes, every one.

_"We need to ask you some questions about Polla Organa. I hope you don't mind."_

_"I know who she really is."_

_"Then perhaps you understand the need for the questions." The Falleen Master's voice was completely unsurprised. Suddenly Dustil really wanted to tell him everything. Suddenly Dustil really wanted to get the hell away from those white walls and perfect gardens, and the sickly look of peace and contentment on Thalia May's face._

_"It upsets you." The Falleen looked sad. "We can discuss this later, if you wish to meditate. You've been through a great deal, young man. I will leave you to your thoughts."_

_Only the prickling sensation made him feel like they weren't only his thoughts. Or not his own private ones. It was then that Dustil realized he had to get the hell out of that place._

They passed the white steps leading to the columned entrance on the Temple. The Eternal Light burned in a crystal globe set over the doorway. A few sentients—Knights by their robes, although a few wore padawan beige or apprentice white—sat on the steps, talking in clusters. They almost could have been students at a university on Telos.

"Head down," Mekel muttered. "Keep walking."

"Yep," Dustil said. The force presence of so many users sang softly like a background hum. He tried to dampen his own thoughts to blend into it.

"La dee dah..." Mekel whispered, and Dustil bit his lip trying not to laugh. They'd fallen in behind some street cleaners who wore gray coveralls similar to their own. Sweeper droids cleaned the walkways until they gleamed; but they hired sentients in this quarter too. One of the Jedi's good deeds, gainful employment for the unders.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dustil thought he saw Thalia herself on the steps—but maybe it was just another brown-haired girl. He didn't stop to look back.

_Paranoia gets you every time._

His thought or Mekel's—no time to think about it.

The Library was a curved boxy structure made of windows that refracted light in a thousand rainbows. The doors were open right on street level. Above them the motto was etched on the glass in faded Basic letters, a meter high.

_The Right to Knowledge is the Right of Every Citizen._

Inside, the library guard sat at a polished black desk in the sleek entranceway. She was Radnoran, stocky and small, and her white apprentice's tunic clashed oddly with the lines of age on her face. Librarian was a common occupation for the failed Jedi students. Dustil ignored the twist of apprehension in his gut as they approached.

"Welcome, citizens," the woman said. "All that seek knowledge may pass."

She held out a chubby six-fingered hand to accept their idchips.

"That won't be necessary." Dustil placed his hand over hers in a gesture that mimicked handing her something. He pressed gently with his mind against hers. Her thoughts scattered as they made way for his own.

There was no one behind them, which was a really lucky break.

"That won't be necessary," the Radnoran agreed. She frowned a little. "You shouldn't be out of uniform, Padawan."

_Oh hell..._

"I'm just seeking knowledge," Dustil said with a little more pressure. "We're not Padawans, just two students from the Uni."

"Of course," she agreed, bobbing her heavy head on its stumpy neck. The bells in her gray hair jingled. "May you find what you seek, students."

_You're pushing too hard, she's gonna start drooling in another second._

_Shut up, let's go._

The librarian pressed a button on her desk and the ferraglass doors in front of them opened wide. They walked on through.

The main room was an atrium, hundreds of meters high. Circular balconies curved above them in a slanting spiral. Light refracted from the solars, splashing the plain white and gray surfaces in a dance of color. Various figures moved between the stacks of discs and catalog droids, chatting in hushed voices.

"Public terms on fifty," Mekel muttered, grabbing his arm again. "Elevator this way—_stop_ staring."

"I'm _not_," Dustil hissed back.

Mekel laughed softly. "First time we came here, I had to pick your jaw off the floor."

They'd spent a lot of time here in the first few weeks after the Star Forge—after they felt Revan fall. It was here that they'd found Yuthura Ban hiding out among stacks of ancient datachips and books. Here they'd voiced thoughts that none of them were willing to say inside the Temple itself. They'd sensed Revan's return to darkness vibrating like a discordant note in the fabric of the force. They weren't the only ones—but perhaps they were the only ones to admit—at least among themselves—that it felt like home.

Or like a command to follow.

A Fosh in brown robes passed by them now, arms full of books. He made a shushing sound with his beak and his talon feathers flapped. Dustil didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until the Jedi passed.

"Elevators," Mekel muttered again. "Lah dee dah."

_We're students from the University, working on a paper about recent events. Recent events and their portrayal in the media. How is this knowledge disseminated in the public domain? How is this affected by the holovid's presentation?_

That had to be Mekel's thought—Dustil's own were moving along more like: _Let's get to the elevator, let's get to a terminal. Let's see if my father left any word._ It took all his efforts to keep the emotion out of them.

The elevator stopped on two, and he groaned. The doors opened and a troop of schoolkids got on. Rich schoolkids and their teachers. One of the adults sniffed at the sight of Dustil and Mekel, but their charges were already on board, holding on to the railings and looking down through the plastiglass walls at the floors below.

"Forty-three" the teacher said, and the elevator chimed, accepting the request.

Mekel was elbowing him hard in the ribs. _Senate brats from the Eglatine Institute,_ his thought said. _Don't attract any attention. Those teachers are combat-trained, and they have fast reflexes._

Hard not to stand out, since they looked much more unwashed than anyone else. They'd tried to clean up too, but under the bright lights the efforts seemed laughable. Not to mention, they towered over the kids. The students were maybe what you'd call eight-formers on Telos. Eight or nine standard years old. All humanid, and all shapes and colors, like a poster for the Republic. Of course, as senate kids, Dustil bet most of them had never been out of this neighborhood. Senate brats didn't really do anything until they came of age. Technically, they didn't really exist until they were twelve. Just one of the useless facts of Coruscanti culture that Dustil had picked up over the last eight months. Right up there with don't pick a bar fight with an Echani sworddancer, and pervs that dress well don't carry cash.

Dustil edged closer to the wall, and bumped into something soft. One of the kids had slipped behind him somehow, and was crouched half under his feet.

_Trying to ditch the field trip, I guess. Nothing to do with us._

Big gray eyes looked up at him from a cap of curly reddish hair. The boy put a finger to his lips, and hunched down more, hiding from the teachers—whose attention was occupied by two dark-skinned girls who were screaming in accents so clipped it took Dustil a moment to realize they were speaking Standard. They were arguing about shopping. He moved in front of the kid, blocking him from view.

_Spoiled brats._

"Forty-three," the elevator chimed. "The planetarium. Access is restricted to Eglatine students and faculty."

The doors opened and the students streamed out. For all their awkward-looking robes, they moved pretty fast. The two teachers swam along, caught in their wake and the doors closed shut again.

"Thank you," said the boy, getting to his feet. Dustil moved away, giving him room. He was tall for his age. Or maybe he was older than the others. Left back a few years. He didn't look very smart.

"No prob. I used to cut classes myself. Although, you seem a little young to be looking for trouble."

"I just need to use a console," the kid said, frowning. "My grandfather's cut off my access at home."

"Hm, yeah--well, you shouldn't be bad. I used to get cut off too, when I did something wrong."

"I _wasn't_!" The boy said imperiously. Or indignantly. It was sort of hard to tell. Whatever. The freckles on his face kind of spoiled the effect. One of his front teeth was only halfway in. Looked like it was growing in crooked. Dustil revised his age estimate back down again.

Mekel rolled his eyes. _Stop talking to the upper crust, Telos. They'll come looking for him and there will be a huge commotion. We need to get out of here before they do._

_Right, I know that._

"Fifty," the elevator said. "Public Terminals. Knowledge is the Right of all Citizens."

The three Republic citizens got off. Dustil walked fast down the long hall to the term rooms, Mekel on his heels. The kid trailed behind them, like a forlorn pup.

_Lose him. He's attention we don't need._

Dustil stopped and turned back. The boy was wearing ridiculous heavy robes that looked like they'd stand up on their own. He had a hopeful expression on his round face that made Dustil want to scream. On Telos, when he and Selene scavenged for food they'd seen faces like that. Other kids, younger kids, just as lost and orphaned as they were. But you couldn't help them, not all of them. You learned fast to just turn away.

_"You should go the other way,"_ Dustil never felt guilty using the force on marks and pervs in the underground; but somehow this made him feel wrong.

"I don't want to," said the kid. "Can you help me?" His voice wavered and he blinked his eyes very fast as if he was going to burst into tears.

Dustil blinked. It wasn't force sensitivity exactly—from what he could tell the kid didn't have any—not that he was an expert on these things—the kid was just immobile. He couldn't be pushed.

"We're busy," Mekel snapped. "Go away."

"Please? I don't know how to work these terminals. At home we have the voice kind."

The clatter of footsteps along the curve of the corridor saved them from any further response. The kid turned and ran through the nearest open doorway. Two Ferroan scholars passed by speaking in hushed tones.

_That kid's more being afraid of being caught than us. Huh._

Mekel laughed and started walking again. "I think we just met one of our leaders of tomorrow. Aren't you impressed?"

"Something weird about that," Dustil muttered, uneasy.

"None of our biz, c'mon."

They picked a room off the main passageways, in the deserted area of the floor. Inside, a terminal and two plain plasticore chairs. Mekel sat down in one with a sigh. Dustil tapped the door closed.

"I'll hold it locked," Mekel said, frowning a little in concentration. "Go ahead, do whatever it is, look for your father."

Dustil was already tapping at the keys.

_Lockbox, Yavin Station. Code 6-oh-9238_

_Username: Sithboy79_

_Password: Rwweeop Kaattyyr Nam_

_Nice password, Sithboy—what is that, you hitting the keyboard loaded?_ Mekel was looking over his shoulder in his head, even sitting across the room.

_Shut up, it's Shryywook. I don't know what it means. I didn't make it up._

_Who did your wookiee boyfriend?_

_You're an ass, it was Mission. She—left it for me._

_Oh._ Mekel got quiet again. They'd talked a little about Mission, but not that much. What Dustil felt—_might have felt—_for her fell under one of those uncomfortable areas. Easier to just avoid.

The computer screen went blank for a moment and there was a pause.

_Connecting. FTL, Yavin._

_Welcome to Suvam's Emporium, Sithboy79. You have 63 messages._

Dustil was already printing them out as he scanned the dates. They were all marked with his father's signature, but the most recent one was four weeks old. He sighed in disappointment.

_He hasn't sent word on where he is _now. _But he's alive. I _knew_ I should have checked sooner. _

There was only one message from Mission and it was eight months old. He printed that one out too.

_I guess she's dead then. I guess she really is._

Dustil started to type in a message to leave for Carth.

_Dear Dad,_

_I guess you're a hero now. Congratulations. I wish you'd_—no, that was bad.

_Dear Father,_

_I'm fine, but I don't trust the Republic or the Jedi. I've been living in the underground. We roll pervs for credits, because that's easier than doing what they want._

No, that was worse. Dustil closed his eyes and ran a finger across the screen. It beeped softly at him. The printer kept churning out pages, in a monotonous drone. He opened his eyes frowning. The screen was black. Letters scrolled across it suddenly, written in Twi'lek.

_Member is online, verify identity. Please enter your name._

"That's weird," Dustil said. "I didn't know it had a subprogram for verification."

Mekel got up from the chair and peered over his shoulder. "Maybe we should just leave when the print job is done," he suggested. "Your real name has got to be set up to trigger stuff—remember that reporter the last time you tried to send a message?"

"Yeah..." Dustil frowned, and typed his name in anyway. _Dustil Onasi._

"Great," Mekel said. "Just do whatever you want then. When you're done I'm just going to nip over to the Temple and ask Master Reia if I can spend some months in meditation and contemplation of my sins. Maybe she'll let me have a cell with a window this time, looking out on that lovely green garden."

_Verify, Dustil Onasi: Who gave you your first kiss?_

Mekel snickered. "Nice security."

"Shut up," Dustil said. _Selene Karath,_ he typed.

_Who gave you your second kiss?_

_Mission__ Vao._

_Who gave you your third kiss?_

_Mission__ Vao._

_What happened when you tried to kiss Mission Vao before she wanted you to?_

_She kicked me._

_Where?_

_In the balls._ Dustil stared at the screen, hardly daring to breathe. A hot spark of hope in his chest. _They're alive, both of them. My father and Mission..._

_No, I mean where were we?_

_Blue??????_

_Verify Identity. Answer the question._

_Master Uthar's room, stealing wine. _

_Sithboy??????_

_I thought you were dead! I thought Revan killed you!_

There was a pause.

_She didn't. I've been waiting for you. Geez, you're slow._

_Where are you? What happened?_

Her response spat out so fast it almost looked pasted in.

_Listen. Your father's in big poo doo. Really really big. BIG. There's this guy who's not nice. He's made Carth think things that aren't true about you-know-who. We've got to rescue your father. Party of two landing tomorrow—big black bird. Meet them at The Wheel. Private room, booked under that other name I called you. Little black bird landing kinda soon. We need to get things rolling, ok?_

_Transmission end._

Mekel was already picking up the sheets of paper and stuffing them in his jacket pockets. Dustil grabbed one, and looked at it. Words jumped out at him, words from his father. _Will come when I can, I am so sorry, I love you very much, fate of the galaxy, I can't leave her like this, sorry..._

Something close to anger flickered under Dustil's skin. "I don't need to read this," he said dully, crumpling the pages in his hands.

Mekel ignored him.

"You might want to later," he said. "Hell, _I_ might want to. What really happened to them?" The other boy took the pages out of his hands.

Behind them the terminal sputtered. Lights flashed, and something smelled scorched.

_It's overloading--shit—_Dustil grabbed Mekel's arm and they ran out of the room.

"That seems like an unlikely coincidence..." Mekel's voice trailed off uncertainly. They started walking away, walking fast. "What the frack is the Wheel?"

"A casino on Coruscant. The Golden Wheel of Fate. Mission said we should go there sometime and rob them blind. My force and her skillz. Make a killing." There was a lump in his throat and something caught in his eye. He blinked fast.

"The Golden?" Mekel looked dubious. "Good luck trying, that place is Exchange territory if it's anything..."

"Well--it's a place to meet her, ok?"

_Party of two, under that other name I used to call you._

_Big black bird—has to be the _Hawk. _Little black bird...she means Revan. Revan's coming here._

_My father's in trouble. That stuff he said on the vids was a lie._

_Mission__ didn't say she was coming too--but she must be. I'll see her again._

They were walking fast down the hall, trying to ignore the smell of smoke that wafted in their wake.

Dustil pushed the button for the elevator. "Come on..." he whispered. "Come on..."

An alarm went off.

"Shit," Mekel hit the elevator angrily. They stood there, helpless. Dustil closed his eyes and tried to stay calm.

The doors opened, and a squad of Republic civi guards streamed out. Dustil reached underneath his coat for his lightsaber. Mekel put a warning hand on his arm.

_Wait...wait..._

The guards rushed past them, fanning out down the corridor.

"Fire down that way," one of them called.

_Never let it be said the Republic doesn't have smart soldiers. Observant, too. _

The hallway they'd just left was filling with smoke, and the hiss of retardant foam.

"Locator reads coming from the other direction. Fire's nothing to do with us," their commander said. His eyes glanced over Dustil and Mekel with the edge of something like curiosity, and he put his hand over the sensor to keep the doors from closing. "Hey—citizens, have you seen a boy? About this high? Red hair?" He gestured.

Dustil stared at him blandly and shrugged. _"We were never here,"_ he said quietly.

"You were never here," the commander echoed, frowning. "Blasted senate brats...." He turned back to his troops, the light glinting on his yellow helmet. "Sweep out and find the kid before we all get demoted."

"I know _I_ joined to the army to be a babysitter," a woman muttered.

"Shut up, Cally."

The doors hissed shut and they were away. Dustil sagged against the back with a sigh of relief. The elevator dropped down.

"Well that was fun," Mekel said brightly. He started to laugh.

Despite himself, Dustil felt a twinge of pity for the kid. Whatever he'd been looking for, he'd seemed to want to find it very badly.

XXX

_Malachi D'Reev_

When Malachi D'Reev was not much older than his grandson was now, his mother took him to the roof of their home. Her private garden was sealed in a crystal dome to keep out the wind. Looking over the edge you could see the entire world below shining in clusters of jewels and light. From up high, the Coruscanti traffic moved in patterns, as ornate as a dance, or the designs on a Zabrak rug.

"Down below," his mother said, "things seem random and uncontrolled. But from up on high, we can see the true weave. The fabric of the universe. And thus, we control its destiny."

She died a year later, after failing to assassinate his father. The old man's approach was more direct.

"Power is our responsibility. The stability of the Republic Empire is our reward. Three branches of power: a system of checks and balances. The Senate, the Council, and the Fleet." A smile curved across his thin lips, and his eyes half-closed. "How do you balance them, my son?"

"With the will of the people," said Malachi D'Reev.

His father laughed. "Precisely."

XXX

The portable holopad crackled. The old man frowned, and tapped the side gently. The picture resolved itself and he smiled. So simple sometimes to make things work again.

"Is there anything else?" Admiral Rensha asked. Her image shifted and blurred. Tightbeam relay wasn't the most reliable transmission, but it was secure.

The aircruiser swerved to dodge an incoming bus. As always, HK's reflexes were more than up to the job.

"Not at the moment," Malachi said. "You're sending the _Pearl_ crew on a long patrol?"

"The far reaches of Sith space. Many crews have not returned from such expeditions." Rensha replied. "Perhaps a diplomatic cruiser _is _required in that sector."

"You have my utmost thanks. I'm sure the Senate will agree to your request for more funds."

The Admiral nodded her accord. He peered at the screen closely. Surely that couldn't be disgust on her scaled face? Perhaps it was just the static on the screen.

He ended the transmission and looked down on his city. It spun beneath them, gleaming in a dance as intricate as history. The cruiser angled up towards the orbital landing docks where the _Pearl_waited.

He'd arranged a groundside landing for the next arrival, far more convenient that way. It was odd of Hulas to be so coy with the details but the Genoharadan hoarded their secrets like a nest of old women. As long as the results were adequate he had no complaints.

She was coming, and he had what she wanted.

Or what she thought she wanted. The old man was fairly sure she had no idea about the real prize. It was better that way, he thought. Cleaner for all of them.

_The will of the people._

The Telos gambit was clumsy, and he'd approved it with some hesitation—only after all other avenues had failed. But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like another advantage. After all, some of the greatest facts in history were the most disputed. Contradictions made them all the more true in the end.

But his grandson...the boy continued to be a problem. His son had been such a disappointment. Now he'd have to tell Malachor about his mother as well. Still, sometimes adversity brought out the best. Malachi D'Reev hadn't been so much older after all, when his own mother died and shattered most of his illusions.

And perhaps...he'd have an ally, when he broke the news to Malachor.

He'd have to wait and see how dependable the pilot was.

XXX

_Carth Onasi_

"I can do this myself," he grumbled.

"Captain Onasi, it's really an honor...I don't mind at all." The laser brush was cool on his cheek, and the ensign's perfume smelled like spice. He tried to ignore how close she was. She leaned over him, and ran the brush across his upper lip. Her hair was a light auburn, and she had freckles on her upturned nose.

He rubbed his hand over his now-smooth cheek.

"Well thanks, I guess."

She'd turned away from him and was holding out a formal dress coat. Fleet red and yellow, fit for an admiral, even though it only had captain's bars. Carth frowned at it.

"Is this all really necessary?" he asked.

"Most of my work is in public relations," the ensign answered him. "We're with the media division of the Fleet—and yes, it's really necessary. You're a hero Captain. You need to look like one. And the Senator will expect it."

"The Senator's meeting me, Silvana said."

She beamed. "Yes indeed! His cruiser should be docking now—or just about now. Here, let me button that for you."

"Thanks, sister—but I can put on my own clothes."

She giggled. "You look very nice in them, if you don't mind me saying so. Sir."

Carth didn't feel nice. He felt ridiculous. All of this parading seemed so pointless compared to the Sith menace and finding Dustil. He gritted his teeth and straightened the lines of the coat. Ensign Delanev moved closer again with a comb and Carth backed away.

"No more," he said. "You don't want to keep the Senator waiting, right?"

"Oh!" Her blue eyes went round. "Of course not!"

She opened the door and he followed her to the _Pearl_'s docks. The crew were lined up along the hall, smiling and waving at him. They all looked so young. The omnipresent whir of a holocam followed them down the hall.

_Revan_

She stood reaching for serenity. This was a desperate gamble, but it must not lead to madness. In her head she recited the words of the Jedi Code.

_There is no emotion; there is peace._

"H-how did you get in here?" The old man rose to his feet, indignantly. Revan stared at him. He was shrunken and stooped under those voluminous Senator's robes, but once he'd been tall. He had none his son's girth. His features were narrower, but cast from the same mold. Eyes the color of durasteel glared at her with hate. Light from the crystal chandelier shone on his hairless skull.

"Through the front door." Her voice sounded dead, but echoed through the mask's amplifiers. The metal plate was cool on against her lips.

_There is no ignorance; there is knowledge._

He was reaching under his desk now and she raised her Krath vibroblade, hands gripping the center pommel. Her friends were at her back, but they would not intervene. This was her battle, and hers alone. It could be no other way.

The old man laughed and she pressed her advance. The sound of the holovid he'd been watching was a steady drone. That and the hiss of her breath through the mask were the only two sounds in the room.

_Revan Starfire faced the Mandalore in single combat on Malachor V. Mandalorian honor commanded him to accept the challenge. There were few witnesses, but one of them had a holocam. Here again, is footage never before seen by the public. The fight that ended the Mandalorian wars._

He had two dark vibroblades in his hand now, curved and short in a style that she recognized. No time to think about where she'd seen them before. Her vision narrowed until he was all that she could see.

_There is no passion; there is serenity._

"This ends today," Revan said. "For Malachor. And for the good of the Republic."

_And Carth, andcarth._

Malachi D'Reev moved fast for an old man, and met her in the center of the room, blades ready. There was the sound of metal scraping metal and he pressed the attack. Revan ducked and dodged it easily, taking his measure. He had the longer reach, and greater physical strength; but she was used to fighting with these disadvantages. She was faster. Her double blade moved in a blur to block his thrusts.

_There is no chaos; there is harmony._

The force rippled around them, but she did not draw on it. The old man's force blindness was like a spot on the sun where all other things sang with life. She met his attacks squarely and waited for him to tire. He was older, and she'd been training for this moment for weeks. Eventually she would press her offense.

_They fought for hours. Mandalorian stamina pitted against Jedi discipline. Mandalorian skills against a Jedi's desperation. Desperation to save her Republic, and end the wars._

They fought for hours. Sweat pooled under her mask, and her hair itched under her helm. Corusteel met corusteel again and again. Her bare feet sank in the hot sand.

_Sand?_

His robes were the color of sand, and faded blue eyes looked at her above the black fabric that covered the rest of his face. His eyes were coolly amused. She lashed out and a line of red striped his shoulder, but he dodged the brunt of it.

_First blood is mine. _

One of his blades hooked the end of her sword and he tugged, dancing back, trying to unbalance her. She tightened her grip and leaned to the side, ready to dodge.

As if in slow motion she saw the feint for what it was—she was dodging the wrong way. And too slowly.

The force sang around them like a dirge, but she would not draw on it, she would not.

His other sword sank deep in her side. Lancing hot pain ran through her body like a shockwave. Terrible sound of metal against bone. Her spine jerked and suddenly there was nothing holding her upright except his sword in her side.

He twisted the blade and pulled it clear.

_There is no death; there is the Force._

Revan fell.

_There is no emotion; there is peace._

"No."

"A bold challenge, daughter of Lin. You fought well."

"Ucah'alla y nik," she whispered from the ground. Far away she could sense rather than see the others that watched them. Watched and did nothing. They couldn't help; this was her fight and hers alone. Malak's desperation beat against her mind. Their shining hope, their last hope. She couldn't make her hands work, and the blade fell from them. The sand sank under her knees, stained with dark blood. Her blood. She couldn't feel her legs.

"No."

_There is no ignorance; there is knowledge._

The pain ebbed and receded. If she tried she could see every grain of sand on the endless plain. Somewhere a child was crying but she closed that out, closed out Malak's fear and rage and the anger and hate that surged from their friends.

_This war will never end._

_There is no passion; there is serenity._

The Fett stood above her, head bowed in respect. One of his blades was stained and dripping. It wouldn't be long now; she could feel the darkness creeping closer like a soft blanket. Her breath hissed painfully. It hurt to breathe. She clutched the wound in her side and looked up at him. Her vision was blurry and her hands were wet with something. Something red.

_There is no chaos; there is harmony._

_No. No—please no._

"N-no—," she whispered.

Blood stained the sand. The sun beat down overhead. Somewhere someone was beating uselessly against her mind. Loss and grief and anger screamed through her barricades, familiar as a kiss. As always, she kept a part of herself detached from it, trying to project that numbness to the others, shield them from the worst of this. Shield them from this one last death. Her death.

_No Red, please. Please no. Don't leave me, don't leave us. Don't leave us, Red. Please._

She felt rather than saw Malak's attempt to heal her through the force. A swirl of white light like an aura in his hands. Too late for that. Too late for anything now. The sand was rough under her fingertips, and all she saw was each grain of it. She'd fallen. She'd failed.

_There is no death; there is the Force._

"No."

The anger was too strong. They'd hurt her, they were hurting Aunt Yancy, and she was angry, really angry. Her breath was ragged and rattling and the sand was warm through her robes.

_No no no nononono._

The Force beckoned like a shining star. Melt into it. Be one with it. The Fett was like a black spot on the sun. He'd bested her; he'd taken everything from her. Her trust, her innocence, her ships and her worlds.

Malak's healing broke over her like a cool burn—too little too late—and his reserve was cracking. What would be left when it broke would be the anger and loss and hate.

_This war will never end._

The Fett was like a blemish on the sun. A black place.

Revan reached out her hand and something trembled, something crackled.

She burned the black place away, drawing its energy inside herself. Knitting bone and tissue. Everything blurred into a blaze of red fire. Fire and lightning.

Fett Cassus Lin fell, and she rose.

Somewhere people murmured. Somewhere someone's hands caught her, as she stood trembling on her feet. The pain in her side was gone. Her breath hissed through the mask, and the world seemed bathed in hard yellow light. Her thoughts were disjointed and strangely mundane.

_I'm sorry, Mal—I cheated..._

_Red. Revan. No. You won. You've won my love. That's all that matters. Oh gods, Red. _

Malak's hands were fumbling at the buckles that held her mask in place, but she pushed them away. She stepped away from him and faced the crowd, standing over the burned shell that had once been the Mandalore.

"The war is over," Revan called out and her words amplified through the mask. "I claim the spoils of the victor. Your weapons, your tents, and your empire are mine. Melt down the basilisks, scrap your ships, and leave this place. Your age of warriors is past. Are there any here who challenge my right to command you?"

There was a pause. The clan observers came closer, inside the circle. Blunt shapes in their battle armor.Rialis, Ordo, Lin, Wies, and Zal.

"Rialis accepts your victory, Fett Revan." Rialis knelt before her.

"And Ordo," spoke a granite voice.

"I accept for Clan Lin." Adatrix pulled off his helm and looked up at her with respect, but something glittered cold in his eyes.

Wies and Zal knelt too.

Somewhere behind her the Republic soldiers broke into a ragged cheer.

Revan's knees trembled, and Malak's hand steadied her arm, before she started to fall down again.

_Get me out of here Mallie before I faint or something. I feel...I feel—_

_Shhh Red, we've won. Walk away, just walk away with me._

Her cape billowed behind her and she turned her back on Mandalore.

_A Ssyrian pan flute played a sad melody._

_The war was over, but the Mandalorians did not all bend at the knee. Revan Starfire took a third of the Republic Fleet past the Outer Rim, to the unexplored reaches of space to hunt down the last pockets of Mandalorian resistance._

_It was a hero's move; but it was doomed. For there, she and her followers fell to the Dark Side of the Force. It was there that they found the secrets of the Star Forge, and remade the Sith Empire to threaten us all..._

"Revan. If you're going to watch this stinking maffa offal, turn the sound down!"

Someone chuckled.

"She's asleep. I think it's rather amusing, myself."

"You would, cub." Canderous' voice was like stones. _Granite._ She heard the heavy tread of his feet crossing the floor, and he was muttering under his breath. The holovid cut out with a squawk. Revan opened her eyes and sat up. She was curled up against Zaalbar like a karath pup. He patted her on the head gently, and growled a soft greeting.

"Sorry—I just..."

To her relief, the console was intact—the Mandalorian had only turned it off this time—not plunged a sword through it.

Canderous crossed his arms and sighed. "If you wanted to know about the fight, you could have asked me. I was there."

"The Fett bested me," she said, rubbing her eyes.

Canderous shrugged. "You used your tactical advantage. That is the way of war, how all wars are won. In the end, he died and you did not. Some say that you were only toying with him—up until the end." A faint smile crossed his face. He looked almost—proud. "It was a very long fight, but I don't think you were toying with him. You fought well on his terms. You won the war on your own."

Revan stared at the floor, relieved to see corusteel plates and not sand stained with blood.

"The next season we almost starved," Oerin said. "Without the harvest droids, we couldn't plant enough crops to feed ourselves. And the Republic imposed an embargo against trade with our system." He spat on the ground. "Not that we'd have accepted trade anyways."

She looked at him. "The harvest droids?"

"The basilisks." It was Canderous that answered her. "In the days of the clans things changed with the seasons. Our people and our machines. Harvest and war."

Revan remembered the train of dewbacks she'd seen in Oerin's mind. "So I made your people starve."

Canderous laughed. "Don't give yourself too much credit, Revan. You went off with the Fleet. What happened to us afterwards had nothing to do with you. Not really."

Zaalbar growled in her ear. "Polla-Revan, please speak Basic and make the others do the same. How can I help you if I miss half of what is going on?"

"Sorry, Zaal'." She gave him a quick translation.

"I am learning their infidel tongue, but it is not easy."

"I know, my friend. But you're going to need to learn it better before we get to Coruscant."

_Coruscant.__ I've seen your face, Malachi D'Reev. And I have the means to destroy you._

Revan got up from the couch and stretched her limbs, banishing the doubts from her mind. "Who wants to practice with me?"

Oerin got up too. "I will," he said. "After watching that fight again, I think I'd enjoy it."

Revan nodded at him, accepting the challenge. "We have ten days. And then it all begins."

"You place much confidence in that computer of yours." He raised his eyebrows mockingly.

Zaalbar growled. "Tell the boy Mission-ghost will do her part. I only hope he does his."

Oerin grinned. His grasp of Shryywook had expanded considerably. "Oh I will..._my_ part is going to be fun." He had a cocky smile on his face.

Revan spent the next few hours trying to wipe it off.

XXX

_Polla Organa_

"I just can't help but feel sorry for the poor girl," Molla Organa said.

_"Ma!"_ Polla dropped her fork halfway to her mouth. It hit the table and fell on the floor. Grimacing, she started to stand up. Her mother kept on talking, ignoring her discomfort.

"In a way dear, we're all the family she's ever known."

"That's true." Auntie Mita frowned. "Now, now, Polla, don't get up, I'll get you another fork, no worries."

Her ancient aunt—one hundred and two if she was a day--rose creaking to her feet and bent down to fetch the fork that had fallen under the table. Polla sat back down in her chair trying not to seethe. If they saw that they were annoying her, they'd only go on. That was what the two of them were like.

"Did you see the broadcast of the awards ceremony for Captain Onasi?" her mother asked Auntie Mita.

"Yes, such a sad young man he was too." Her aunt rose tremulously from her knees and tottered over to the cabinet to get a clean fork for Polla. Absently, she dropped the soiled one on the floor again. None of them moved.

Bolts, the Organa's ancient utility droid, rolled over to pick up the offending object with a rusty wheeze.

"Ma," Polla protested again, wondering why she'd bother to come, "we're _not_ her family."

Her mother ignored her, eyebrows knitting in a serene, but thoughtful expression. Auntie Mita picked up the tray of kaffa cake from the counter and carried it back to the table, setting it down with a contented sigh. She sliced off a hunk for Polla and handed it to her, wrapped in an eridu napkin.

Polla ate absently, still distracted.

"That whole Telos thing is a lie," said Auntie Mita. "Bendowen's girl...you know Bendowen—my great-uncle's second wife's son was his father's father...that'd make him your...third cousin once removed? Or is it twice? Or would that be your fourth cousin...? In any case, _his_ daughter...the one that ran away to join the Jedi during the Troubles? Well shewas with the Sith Fleet a few years ago, and she said Darth Malak ordered the Telos bombardment. That poor man Captain Onasi is completely wrong...Revan would never do anything like that! Organas don't destroy worlds needlessly; they're not like those corrupt Coruscanti politicians...."

Polla took a deep breath. Her son kicked inside her angrily, as if to echo her protest.

"Darth Revan is _not_ an Organa."

Her mother still looked thoughtful. This was worrisome. "You know, in a way," she began, "it's almost like she's your own sister. We always wanted more children, your father and I...I hope you and Seiran are planning on having more. An empty house is a sad one."

"Let's just get this one born," Polla sighed, giving up. She felt awful. Her back was really killing her.

"So anyways," Auntie Mita said, gesticulating with her fork, "I heard that Bendowen actually got a letter from Beya the other day. Everyone thought she'd been killed in the wars or something, but actually, she's on trial on Manaan. Something about killing Sith...or was it joining the Sith? I'm really not sure...but it's a damn shame."

"A damn shame," Molla Organa echoed.

XXX

A/N:

In general thanks for the reviews and the inspirations!! I keep thinking I need to slow down with this, but then I keep these ideas...ugh. There are so many excellent ficts that use the Genoharadan so well. I do not think this will be one of them, however. Part of my mind is screaming, why did you have to add the Genoharadan in the first place? Don't you have enough worries? Ah well. Maybe I can turn them into something more than a convenient plot device. At the moment I am examining their motivation :P (Perhaps I should not reveal this to the reader at this time. waves hand I did not say that. There's nothing wrong with the Genoharadan. I know exactly what I am doing with them. Move along now...I do not need to pay this docking fee either.)

Thanks also go out to the Unofficial Star Wars Encyclopedia and the map of the Galaxy that I finally found. Phew. Glad there is one.

**Prisoner 24601 **

Heh yep. Although, nothing can be simple as a swordfight...or a permacrete detonator...not really...Malachi doesn't know she knows...still...although I wonder how long that will last.

Carth will survive, I feel like I should address that before the O.O. gets out pitchforks and torches. I am fond of him, even if Canderous is kinda cuter. This is not a Rev/Cand romance anyways. And I mean, Malak's dead...so... and Carth's The Hero. Much more of his thoughts, and some big revelations that I think you can see coming very soon...

Dustil and Mekel have much more in store...

Mission's long reach causes me as many nightmares as the Genoharadan. However, even supercomputers have limitations. Not to mention, their own interests, perhaps? But Griff did deserve that after all...

**ether-fanfic**

The more I think about it, how much Polla is in Revan now? Some perhaps. I've gone through somewhat of a shift in terms of what I thought about identity when I began this and where we are now. Much of that can be attributed to the other versions of this tale that I've read....Heh, thanks...

It's still possible that there was an entire broadcast on the vids about Darth Revan's use of the word please...but perhaps we don't need to see it to imagine it happening. Hm, or maybe that happened on Ziost...

Dustil's had some tough breaks...I suspect he'll have a few more, although on a less world-ending scale.

**Tim Radley**

Terrifying, yes. Didn't someone tell Revan that maybe this was a bad idea?

HAL, William Gibson, Neal Stephenson, et al. Nods. (And yes, **xenxen**—Jane too...—although hopefully not quite that omniscient...loved Xenophobia, the ones after—or one–or was there another...not so much...). Also maybe a little of the ship who sang concept.

I'm going to redefine "dark" and "light" then, relative to this fict. When no one dies (in the present and not counting the Sith fleet battling somewhere over Eos), a chapter is "light."

**snackfiend101**

You can blame the Revan pov on your last review. It got me to thinking...heh. Hope it's not too cheesy. It also gave me the chance to add that scene in that I've been thinking about for a very long time.

**Xenzen**

Yes, Really did kill Rahesia. It's a small mercy at least that Carth may never know this. Probably.

Re: the Pearl and D'Reev, and his relationship to the Fleet...well have started to address that here...although the particulars are third on the scale behind the Genoharadan and Mission giving me headaches. Oh yeah, and I mentioned the Sith? (Whimper)

Dusty and Mekk will get in a lot more trouble very very soon. They still have to get Out of the library and back down below after all...

Machiavellian...somewhat...although I was going more towards Stalin, in my minds eye. Maybe I should read the Prince again. Or Mario Puzzo, which would be more fun.

Thanks for letting me shoot some ideas off you, I may do that again, yea are forewarned!

**Firera**

If I could think of a good reason to bring the locker guy into this somehow, he'd be there. Hm, perhaps it's not too late?

Malak's very pleasant around his kid...sorta. I was thinking originally of making that scene with him less pleasant, but it was depressing me. Either Malak's a completely mindless brainless thug, or he's got some redeeming qualities...I tend to think the latter, albeit caught up in Forces Beyond His Control. And what he became can't be all he was...still, he did bomb Telos, didn't he? Hm, and why?

Yes the smelly fruit image is great, maybe I can work them in somewhere again. Perhaps in the casino?

Or the floor of the Senate.


	12. Sithkids

(this is the edited one, Quick Edit is evil and bad and does terrible things to spacing and italics...)

* * *

**Chapter 12 / Sithkids**

* * *

_Carth Onasi_

Carth walked off the _Pearl _straight into an awards broadcast. Lights and cameras whirred and flashed, and there were at least a hundred sentients from various branches of the Fleet standing at attention. Everyone was saluting. There was a band playing the Republic Anthem. There were flags and a red carpet lining the corusteel floor of the docking bay--a space twice as large as the _Pearl _needed--presumably to accommodate this pomp and circumstance.

A bald old man dressed in formal black and red robes met him, shook his hand, and escorted him to the podium.

"My apologies about all of this ceremony," the old man whispered, putting a steadying hand on Carth's shoulder. "But sometimes these sacrifices are necessary for the Republic."

"Senator D'Reev?"

"Yes. It's a great honor to meet you, Captain Onasi." The old man smiled sadly. "In some ways I feel like I already know you quite well."

Carth kept the neutral smile pasted on his face. Eventually this would be over, and he could focus on finding Dustil. D'Reev was a tall man, stooped and wrinkled with age. The Senator's robes made him look broader than the bones in his face and hands suggested. He looked, Carth noticed with a chill, like an older, frailer version of his son. His eyes were gray and soft with sympathy. _More sympathy, more accolades. Great. _Carth kept the neutral smile pasted on his face. It felt like it was welded on at this point.

D'Reev patted his hand. "After this, we're going to lunch with the Chancellor. It's a long drive to the District, so we'll have some time to talk. This all must be very difficult for you."

Carth nodded numbly. _Difficult. Regret. And now I'm the hero of the galaxy. _

There were speeches and the band played the Telos Symphony, sad and funereal. Carth had to blink his eyes several times, and shook more hands than he'd ever thought he'd see. A pretty red twi'lek corporal pinned the Republic Cross of Glory on his chest. Reporters asked him questions and he answered in a monotone, the same answers over and over again. Stop the Sith. Stop Darth Revan. Find Dustil, where was his son?

His mind was elsewhere, trying to think of something safe to think about. Something unemotional, like the drive engines he'd refitted on the _Hawk--don't kiss me you're all oily, she said, laughing. The way her nose wrinkled--where had they been? Tatooine, maybe. The first time. Not the second, don't think about the second, when you knew what she really was and loved her anyway. How could you?_

Funny, the more they called him a hero, the more he felt like a lie.

Captain Ekkumi was there and General Jiya Sand. He hadn't seen either of them in years. It had been Corporal Sand and Commander Ekkumi then. Ekkumi kissed his cheek. "We'll talk later," she promised. The familiarity of her Telosian accent hit home with a pang. Their children all grew up together on the base, not so long ago. _Before it all ended, before Saul and Revan ended everything--_Carth nodded at her, he didn't trust himself to speak.

After what seemed like forever, it was over. An honor guard escorted him and D'Reev to the Senator's own personal transport that was parked in the next hangar bay. A sleek aircruiser, Durian-made from the look of it, shaped like a gleaming silver triangle. _Only the best,_ Carth thought wearily. Durians were famous for their ship design, although as a species they rarely left their own planet.

"You're holding up well," the old man observed, as the doors slid open with a soft click, revealing a sparse, but opulent interior. The walls were gleaming white lacquer, with two white silk couches facing each other across a table made of white stone. Carth sat down on one and the old man sat down on the other. The driver was an anonymous shadow behind a thick wall of reinforced dark gray ferracrystal. Tinted ferracrystal windows on either side revealed the Coruscanti landscape as the aircruiser slipped out of the hanger with an effortless purr, and navigated deftly into the stream of planetside traffic.

Repulsor fields shimmered around them, and Coruscant spun beneath. It was beautiful.

"I've never been here before," Carth admitted, shifting in his seat. The psychdroid had declared him fit, but he felt so drained and exhausted. He wanted a drink and a room and to be left alone. "Is there any word of my son?"

The Senator shook his head. "We're looking for him," he said. "I'm sure we'll find him, or he'll find you."

"I appreciate it." Carth realized his hands were clenched into fists.

"I know what it's like to lose a son," the old man said bleakly.

Carth didn't know how to respond to that.

* * *

_Mekel Jin_

There was a brief happy moment when everything seemed fine. They'd gotten away clean. They crossed the ground floor of the library and Mekel almost started whistling. Dustil was tense and quiet--whatever he thought about Mission was obviously preying on him as much as his father's situation--but Mekel was just glad something was finally going to happen. Something besides being trapped in the Coruscant underground.

But when they walked out of The Library door they walked into an ambush.

"Dustil Onasi!" a voice called.

_Oh frack..._

There were at least two squads of soldiers waiting for them. From their uniforms they looked like different branches of the Fleet. Out of the corner of his eye Mekel saw that the street had been hastily cordoned off. A shadow blocked the milky sun. Another transport settled on the wide street like a gleaming silver cannon, and discharged more troops.

_You'd think we'd robbed the Gallery of Heroes, or started the Sith Wars. What the frack?_

_I knew this was a bad idea. Why'd you type in your own name, idiot?_

Not a lot of time to think, not much time at all.

"See you around," Mekel said, and walked away. Casual. Behind him Dustil was still frozen in shock.

The troops circled around his friend, but Mekel wasn't the only random ped caught in the barricade. He slipped through, trying not to think very hard. Dustil's thoughts were chaotic and angry and beat on his mind like a staccato of rain.

_What are you doing, don't leave me. Mekel? What the hell? What the hell do I do?_

_Tell me the name. The one to meet them under. _

_Huh?_

_The name. Mission's message. At the Wheel. What's the name?_

The Telosian boy's emotions were like an explosion. They almost hurt and in spite of himself, Mekel winced.

_H-handsome._

_Huh. Ok. Good luck Dustil._

_Mekel???_

_What else can I fracking do, Telos? Shit, Jedi...heads up Telos...don't do anything stupid._

They walked past him, a phalanx of brown-robes and beige. If he looked close he'd probably recognize some of them. Mekel kept his head down, fingering the pages in his pocket. It was the only thing he could do.

_If you don't get out of this Telos, I'll meet them._

* * *

_Dustil Onasi_

Mekel just walked away. Walked away.

_What else can I fracking do, Telos?_

They advanced on him. "Dustil Onasi!" a woman called. Commander's bars on her coat, naval branch, intelligence. "We've been looking for you, son." She had a reassuring smile on her face, but he wasn't reassured, not at all.

_If you don't get out of this Telos, I'll meet them._

Dustil backed away, backed up towards the library doors.

"Dustil Onasi!" a Trandoshan Captain in black and gray. District patrol, maybe. He frowned at the naval commander. "We've got orders to take him in. This is our jurisdiction—not yours."

The woman glared. "My orders are to take this boy to his father, sir. With all due respect..."

He was almost to the doors now, maybe he could slip back inside, and then, and then...he tried not to think about Mekel's betrayal. What kind of friend just leaves?

The doors opened behind him and Dustil turned around to make a run for it.

A squad of civvie guards came out, and in their midst was that kid. Round face and red hair. The kid had been crying, crying a lot.

Dustil wasn't really thinking now, he was just acting. On Korriban they'd train sometimes. Scenarios with the prisoners. How do you deal with outnumbered odds? Answer: cut a swathe through them. His lightsaber was in his hand before he had time to think about the utter futility of that against a hundred blasters. If they'd shoot.

_They'll probably just stun me._

He tried to think that, maybe it was reassuring.

"Dustil Onasi!" called someone behind him. "We're not going to hurt you, son."

The kid looked up, looked at him. His mouth made a round O of surprise. Mouthed the name, _Onasi._

Things seemed to move very slowly. Dustil was looking for a break between the astonished civvie guards. Less of them than what was behind him. The saber was humming in his hand, red and bright. Somehow soothing.

_Cut a swathe._

There was an opening on the right, where two of the guards seemed more confused than the others. Greener maybe. Gaping at him. Some of the others had drawn their blasters. Pointing at him. Behind them people were yelling at them not to shoot. Confusion.

_Now's your chance._

He started to move but the kid moved faster. Broke away from the guards and ran. Ran right into him. Dustil's breath went out in an oomph of surprise as arms locked around his waist. The kid hung onto him for dear life.

_What the hell?_

"Carth Onasi's your father?"

Wide gray eyes looked up at him. Lashes wet with tears. Crooked tooth. The kid was really heavy.

"Get away from me," Dustil muttered. He couldn't move.

"Make them say it's a lie. You know it's a lie, you have to know!" The boy's voice shook.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The guards all around them seemed frozen. He could feel laser sights like little prickles on the back of his neck.

"Make them say it's a lie!"

_"Make them say it's a lie!"_

_Selene's voice shook. Dustil trembled for her. Master Uthar had a smile on his face. That really bad smile._

Oh shit, Leenie, no.

_"Make them say it's a lie! My father didn't bomb Telos!"_

_Master Uthar began to laugh._

"Kid, step away from...the boy." The civvie commander looked terrified. Dustil wasn't sure which one of them he was talking to anymore. The kid had his jacket in a death grip, and he whirled his face around, and screamed at the soldier.

"Say it's a lie! Say it!"

"Get away---it's me they're after, not you," Dustil whispered. He held his saber out defensively. He felt funny, as if all of this was a dream.

The kid looked up at him again, eyes huge and drowning.

"They won't hurt you, they wouldn't dare. Tell them it's a lie."

"What, _what's _a lie?"

"Those things on the nets. About my mother."

"Kid, I don't know your mother..." The guards were still frozen, and Dustil started to edge his way to the side, maybe get his back to the wall. This was all going to end really badly. He couldn't see how else it could end.

"You _do. _Your father does. I s-s-saw it on the vids. S-s-someone told me to t-trust your father. Your father's good. Like my mother is." The kid's nose was running now too and his face was wet with tears. His clear voice carried in the sudden stillness around them.

_Like the eye of a hurricane._

The guards were whispering.

"For what we're not hearing, we're going to get a nice long trip to the Outer Rim," one of them said.

"I don't understand. Stun them already!"

"Shut up, Cally."

"Dustil Onasi."

A voice behind them, sad and kind. _One of the Jedi. Great. _Dustil didn't turn around, just kept trying to edge sideways towards the wall of the building. The kid was stuck to his side like a mynock.

"Tell them it's a lie! Tell them!"

"Malachor." The voice was dispassionate, that sickening calmness that was supposed to be concern--only it never was. They never really cared about you at all. _Jedi._ He could feel them against the fringes of his mind.

"Don't call me that." The boy sounded sad and scared. Dustil could sense the Jedi behind them now too, a ripple in the force.

_Call him what? Malachor? Was the kid named after the star system?_

Dustil wanted to laugh suddenly. Nothing made sense.

_Why would they want me this badly?_

There was the wall, solid ferracrete. He whirled and pressed his back against it, holding the saber out in front of him. The kid was scrunched up against him, had his jacket in a death grip.

In front of them were at least four different branches of the Fleet that he could see. Five brown-robes. And a squad of local guards. And the kid's guards. All fanned out, on every side.

"Well, kid, what now?" Frack, he really wanted to start laughing.

"Make them say it isn't true." The boy's voice was quieter. He moved in front of Dustil, and Dustil had to move his arms to keep from hitting him with the blade. His hand was shaking. Almost tentatively, the kid reached over and steadied them. Great, now they were both holding the lightsaber.

No one was moving, not even the Jedi. Weird.

It was then that the explosions began.

* * *

_Mission__ Vao_

If that stupid nerf herder had just gone to a public street terminal none of this would be happening. But no, he had to go to the one place that tracked keystrokes on their end—bantha poo bloody Library.

Mission's error was overconfidence; she realized that as soon as the name Dustil Onasi started setting off tripwires all across the system. (The fact that it was coupled with her own name and Selene Karath's probably didn't help.) The best she could manage at that point was damage control. At least her own response had been encrypted. But the damage was done. She counted at least six different alarms—set independently. He'd better get out of there fast. The Library was already on alert. She looked into why.

One of the Eglatines was missing. Senators and their heirs. Most of them were clones, and they protected their own with more ice than she'd ever seen anywhere outside of the Jedi Temple's archives. Stupid Jedi. She still was having trouble getting through that. Almost all activity on the public terminal floor was down now, but she was still tapped into the system when one final request logged in.

_Kwery / Revan Starfire Reesint news. Please._

The term replied with the usual trash. Revan Starfire, big bad Sith Lord. She would have snickered.

_Liar dont say those things abot my mother_

Wow. What were the odds? Mission calculated them. Three hundred, ninety-six thousand, eighty four point nine nine seven six to one. She weighed the risks of a response, and found them too high. Carth had probably spilled the beans that there was a supercomputer out there. Of course he didn't know how super. Besides, there were troop commands and requests to cordon off the entire district. She was impressed, who knew Dustil was that major? Malachi D'Reev wanted him badly—and so did the Jedi.

"Rulan?" the ship's speakers crackled and she adjusted the distortion to a more manageable level. The shapeshifter winced.

Rulan Prolik put down the thing he'd been making—some kind of wall hanging made from rope he'd found in the ship's stores, woven into a pattern of intricate knots.

"Yes?"

"Do you have any contacts in the Chancellor's District?"

"We get a great deal of work there."

"I need some legs to get Dustil Onasi out of a big stinking pile of poo doo. At The Library."

"You need him eliminated?"

Stupid order of assassins. One-track minds. How small.

"No. I need him extricated. Unharmed. I'll arrange a distraction—" she was already working on that, traffic grids weren't that hard to get into—harder though, to override their automated safety controls. "Rescue."

"It's not really our normal line of work, you understand."

If she had teeth, they'd be gritted.

"Can you do it or not?"

"You need to give me more information."

She was working on a visual, one of the security drones outside the Library doors. She couldn't get readings inside—Library didn't have visual—something about the Right to Knowledge being private—which was sort of funny considering how much they monitored—but Coruscant didn't seem known for its logic. The grids were a tangle of overlaid systems, some dating back over a thousand years. Coruscanti laws were much the same.

"On it..." she said, and the holo sprang into view.

Lots of sentients in uniform, standing around with all of their guns drawn. This really wasn't good. She tried to get the drone to pan out to see what they were doing—or rather, where Dustil was—since the odds seemed high that this was the pile of stinking-ness he'd wandered into.

Yep, there he was, looking really sort of like small time core-slime, in a drab gray coverall and jacket. His hair was longer and it fell over his eyes and he really needed to shave now. He was waving a lightsaber—real smart—and there was a red-haired kid stuck to his legs like glue.

What are the odds...?

Five hundred million, two hundred forty two thousand, eight hundred sixty four point three two seven to one.

The kid turned and she ran a close-up on his face, transposing it with an image of Revan's at about the same age from the Telos incident, and one of Malak's at twelve that she'd swiped from an underground tabloid. Match. _Primary target identified._ She stored the image to show Polla-Revan later. She'd probably want to see it.

But not now, not until Mission sorted this all out. Polla-Revan would freak if she saw this.

"I'm sorry; I regret my organization can't be of any assistance." Rulan sighed, setting his Twi'lek body back in his chair. His fingers deftly tied another knot in his project.

"What?"

"That...Eglatine is the property of one of our most generous benefactors. We can't get involved."

"Seems to me you're already involved," Mission snapped. "What with Hulas trying to play both sides of the fence, and you agreeing to assist me in exchange for passage off Kashyyyk."

Freyyr was thankfully asleep. She didn't need the distraction. The grids were a snarl. Mission tried to patch into the safety automation. Somewhere a terminal beeped. Denied.

"You didn't tell me this involved D'Reev interests." Rulan sighed regretfully.

There are more than a billion curses in the known universe. Part of her began running through them all.

Dustil and Malachor D'Reev were backed up against the wall of the Library now. No one seemed to be shooting at them, but that wasn't really a surprise. It was going to be inconvenient if Dustil managed to get captured by D'Reev's people. Since Carth hated Revan now, they needed Dustil. She noticed the flock of Jedi—that was a slightly better option. Although from the look on Sithboy's face, he didn't think so.

"That Eglatine isn't important," Mission lied. "He's just a bystander. You must be mistaken."

The shapeshifter chuckled. "I _know_ who he is. That's Malachor D'Reev. There's an abbey on Dathomir whose entire operations are funded by a retainer _not_ to take any assignments that concern him."

"Well I don't want him killed! Just—get Dustil out of there."

Somewhere a terminal beeped and chimed. Override accepted.

"You can get the kid out of there too," Mission offered. She pulled the grid offline. A public airbus collided with a troop transport. There was a flash of light on the holoimage, and several of the soldiers looked very distracted. Good.

"You don't understand, we can't act against D'Reev," Rulan said, frowning at the screen. "Was that an explosion?"

"They might be in danger," Mission said ominously. "You could help save them?"

"I'm sorry. No. Our efforts might be misconstrued."

"They could die."

Hastily she put the grid back online. The effects were already impressive. Air traffic everywhere tried desperately to land with mixed results. Repulsor fields shimmered around the Library building, shielding it from any impact damage. The scene began to resemble a war zone. She panned the camera view back out.

Stupid nerf-herder was just standing there, slack-jawed with his lightsaber. Anyone with any sense would have ducked inside The Library by now. What traffic was left in the sky started flying again, although there were panicked civilians everywhere. The troops were dealing with that, mostly. And some of the Jedi.

Rulan shrugged. "As long as we're not involved, that's not my concern."

"I could let it be known that you _were_ involved." Blackmail was highly effective with sentients.

"I am truly sorry; my code of ethics forbids it. If the Genoharadan began double-crossing our clients, who would ever hire us again?"

Well, most sentients.

"Hulas—"

"Hulas will be dealt with."

Why didn't that dumb boy move?

* * *

_Carth Onasi_

"You seem troubled," the old man said.

The cruisers engine's hummed softly in perfect synch. Below them spun Coruscant, a matrix of lights and spires.

Carth gritted his teeth. The Senator was nice enough, but he really didn't want to talk about it. What was there to say?

_I'm no hero, I'm a traitor. I was going to betray the Republic for her. I saved the Dark Lord of the Sith from a fiery death on the Star Forge. I was a fool._

"You're thinking about Revan." It was not a question.

Carth nodded slightly, feeling ashamed.

"Believing the best in people isn't wrong," D'Reev said. "I knew her quite well when she was younger. I believed the best too."

_Malak's father. Did she lead Malak to the dark side too? Did she twist him like she twists everything? _Carth frowned.

"I-I met your son once," Carth said aimlessly.

_The big man looked up from his empty glass and glared at him with cold steel eyes. "Seat's taken," he said._

_"There's no one in it." Carth grinned at him. "Let me buy you a drink. What command are you with, soldier?" He was celebrating their minor victory off Reisu, one of Althir's moons. Nothing was going to get in the way of that. You had to celebrate what you could. Live and fight another day. In the morning he'd take stims to take care of the hangover he planned on having. The cantina was crowded and the bar stool next to the big man was the only empty seat left._

_"I'm no soldier." The big man scowled at him, raising a heavy brow. "Can it be that you don't know who I am?"_

_Carth shrugged. "This is a soldier's bar; I'd assume you're with the Fleet. What are you—part of the groundside detail?" Whoever he was, he wasn't in uniform, but that wasn't surprising. Regs were regs, but they tended to be overlooked in this part of town. The man wore a generic black coverall. His hair was thinning but his face was round and looked young. Carth signaled the buxom Althiri to bring them both another round. Althiri firewater—tasted like fuel oil but it did the job._

_"Big day tomorrow," Carth offered weakly, when the man made no further response._

_The man grunted and drained his glass, closing his eyes. When he opened them again he looked almost friendly. Almost—as if it were something he had to work hard at._

_"You're one of Admiral Karath's commanders, aren't you?"_

_Carth tugged self-consciously at his fleet jacket. The bars were still shiny. It had only been a month since his last promotion. "Yeah. How did you know I was with Karath?"_

_"I could say it was a lucky guess, most of his command is Telosian." The big man shrugged and signaled to the barmaid for another round._

_Carth narrowed his eyes. "You _could _say?"_

_The big man grinned shortly. "Maybe I read your mind. We Jedi do that you know." His words were slightly slurred. Carth wondered how long he'd been sitting on that bar stool. _

_Carth edged away slightly. The Jedi occupied a strange position in the Fleet—necessary, but there were strange stories...._

_"Enough about me," the big man said carelessly. "Let's talk about you. Your wife and son, you miss them very much."_

_The bastard was in his mind._

_"Don't do that," Carth hissed angrily. His hand was on his blaster, which was complete madness. Attack a Jedi in a Fleet bar? Court martial at the very least._

_The man continued as if he'd said nothing. "Dustil and Morgana. Dustil's...eleven now? They're back on Telos. Morgana's very pretty. You're a lucky man, Carth Onasi. Some people never get to have the happiness you hold in your memories, even for a short time." He shook his head and stared at his glass. "Some people never get to have that," he repeated and closed his eyes._

_"I'm out of here," Carth said, and started to get up from his chair._

_"You soldiers think you know about war. You know what war really is?" the Jedi whispered, but his words cut through the cantina din like a vibroblade. "War is feeling a world die and knowing that the blood is on your hands. You think you know, but you don't. You force blind lucky son of a maffa-spawned jrisk—you have no bloody idea."_

_"Fighting for freedom is necessary! Where do you get off going through my mind, who the hell do you think you are?"_

_You couldn't shoot someone in a Republic cantina but fistfights were generally overlooked. The man had several kilos of body mass on him and was maybe a decade younger, but Carth considered the odds. Possible. Maybe._

_Cold gray eyes stared at him. Dead eyes in the young face. "I'm Malak D'Reev. Jedi Knight Malak D'Reev."_

_"You say that like I should be impressed." Despite himself, he almost was. Malak himself. One of the two leaders of the Jedi command. Jedi Knight Malak D'Reev was signaling for another round and gesturing for him to sit back down._

_"Perhaps I've been rude," the big man considered. "Have another round on me."_

_"Sorry," Carth said, walking away. "I don't drink with assholes."_

"Your son seemed...like he had a lot on his mind," Carth finished lamely. "We met on Althir, right before the Republic defeat."

_A defeat that Canderous orchestrated. How could I have forgiven him for that?_

The Senator sighed. "My son had good intentions." His gray eyes—those same eyes—looked sad. D'Reev stared at his hands. "He loved his wife very much."

"I didn't know he was married," Carth said.

"Very few people did," the Senator replied. "But I thought you deserved to know. Considering...everything. In her own way she was a remarkable woman. Brilliant, but utterly ruthless."

If it was possible, his heart sunk even lower. "Oh." _Revan and Malak._ "They were--?"

_"Malak—at the end he asked me to take him back. I remembered things then, things about him and me. We grew up together you know, and he was—we were—."_

_"Shhh....We all have our pasts." Carth held her hand tightly, trying to reassure them both._

"They were married, yes." The old man smiled painfully. "So as you see, I knew Revan Starfire very well. She was my daughter-in-law."

Carth wasn't sure how to handle this. He looked outside. They were on the skyway now, a silver line stretching along the curve of the planet's horizon, merging seamlessly with the clouds that covered most of the groundside.

_Why am I even surprised? Why do I even care?_

He didn't care, but he felt a strange emptiness. He stammered for something to say. "She was...she—you said—she was ruthless. Was she—always—like that?"

_Something wrong? Something on your mind?_

D'Reev looked pensive. "Revan was always ambitious. Something the Jedi Order frowned upon, but tolerated—due to her...unique position." He shrugged. "She was a powerful force user, and they needed her talents. They overlooked much, and in return she betrayed them." His face was like stone. "She led my son into darkness. In the end...he wasn't my son anymore; he was just a...thing. Mindless and brutal."

"I-I'm sorry." Words seemed inadequate.

The Senator sighed. "I hope we can find Dustil. It's a terrible thing to lose your son. I want to help you, Captain Onasi."

"Thanks," Carth's voice was hoarse.

"We should speak of happier things," the Senator said. "We'll have lunch with the Chancellor and then take you to your quarters. The Senate has been good enough to set up a suite for you in the ambassadors' building, while a more permanent residence is being arranged. The Telosian representatives will want to meet with you, of course—but I've also scheduled some time for you to get some rest before the next round of press conferences."

"Telos has Senate representation?" That was new. The old bitterness struck him again. _If my homeworld had been properly part of the Republic, the Fleet would have defended it against Revan's attack. But we were just a border planet, one of the Outer Rim sacrifices to the glorious cause._

"They've been nominated for full representation." The old man looked at the floor modestly. "I've sponsored the nomination. It was the least I could do."

Carth nodded. He didn't trust his voice.

The old man's commlink beeped. "Senator, we have a situation. It involves...the boy." The voice was crackling with static and it the background noise that filtered through the link carried sounds of explosions and screams. Carth stiffened.

"The boy? My son? News of my son? Is it Dustil? Is he in trouble?"

D'Reev looked up at him, with a blank look on his face. For a moment it was as if the kindly façade dropped, and what was left was an expression that Carth couldn't read. It was almost—measuring.

"Apologies, Captain Onasi. Text only." The old man said into his commlink and scanned the screen. The lines in his face deepened, and his eyes were half-lidded above the hawk-like nose

_He cares this much about finding Dustil? That's kind of him...isn't it?_

The reaction was so sudden that Carth had a twinge of doubt. This is Darth Malak's father we're talking about here. Can I really trust him? Can I trust anyone?

"What is it?" he repeated. "Is my son in trouble? You have to take me to him!"

D'Reev was tapping out commands on the commlink. He looked up from the screen. The gray eyes were kind again, and a little frightened.

_"_Can I trust you, Captain Onasi? I want to trust you."

"If it's about Dustil you'd better just tell me!" Carth said. He realized he was shouting and his hands were clenched into fists again.

Malachi D'Reev lifted an eyebrow. "It appears I have no choice," he said. "Yes, Dustil has been found...but...there's something else you need to know."

"You can trust me," Carth said. "Just take me to my son."

* * *

_Dustil Onasi_

_Explosions._ The Jedi were whispering among themselves. Three broke away. Across the street an airbus and a military transport fell from the sky. Panic and screaming. People were injured—some of them died. Dustil felt them die, lives winking out like bulbs on an overtaxed grid. Like Telos all over again. Fire fell from the sky. Dustil wanted to curl up in a ball and scream, but he couldn't move.

_What's happening, why is this happening?_

_Dustil? What the hell is going on?_ For a blurred instant he was in Mekel's body and not his own. Mekel was on the tube, slouched against a window. A Rodian musician was walking down the crowded aisle, playing a popular song on a seven-stringed jaiu.

_I don't know. _

_Get out of there!_

_Jedi all around me, and the soldiers. Traffic grid must be offline, and there are fires and people are—._

_I can feel it._ Mekel's barriers slammed shut.

Dustil's hands were shaking and the two remaining Jedi looked at him with sad sad eyes. "Dustil Onasi, put down your weapon. Come with us. Please."

"Sorry." The civvie commander's voice was shaken. Most of his troops had gone with the others to help deal with the chaos around them, but the commander and two others stood firm. "You can't take them into custody. My orders. The Senator's on his way."

The boy quailed back against him, hands still gripping the hilt of Dustil's saber. "Say it's a lie," he said again.

"Malachor," the Eosian Master's voice was gentle.

"Don't call me that! Y-you're not supposed to call me that. Grandfather said someday when I'm big people will think it's a good name, but now n-now. Not yet. Not Malachor, not Malach, not Mal. Call me Korrie, Korriedreev. Say it's a lie! You know it's a lie too! You knew her, you knew my mother..."

"Kid? Who...?" Dustil's voice trailed off. The Jedi were looking at him as if there was something he should already know. The commander just looked uncomfortable. Behind them, things seemed to have stabilized. Traffic moved overhead. A medic transport hovered above the accident scene, flashing green lights.

_Korriedreev_

_D'Reev?_ Mekel sounded surprised. What's going on?

_That kid in the library, he's here. Says his name is Malachor D'Reev. Oh, and some Senator is on his way to take me into custody. And things are blowing up. Why did you leave me?_

_What was I supposed to do, Telos?_ Mekel was trying very hard to stay as distant as possible._ That kid's a D'Reev?_

_I guess? So?_

_Do you pay attention to anything? Ever?? Senator D'Reev was Malak's father. Darth Malak. _

_Kid said Grandfather, his grandfather. So his grandfather is Senator D'Reev._

_C-could Malak have a son?_

Dustil's hands loosened on the saber, and the kid grabbed it before it fell, holding it clumsily. "Say it's a lie! My mother is not evil, she's not! She's going to come for me, s-she promised she would when I was little. When the war ended..."

"Kid, please..." the commander looked desperate. "Right now I can pretend I don't know what you're talking about."

"What is he talking about?" the woman next to him said.

"They'll send us to the Outer Rim, or maybe one of the mining colonies. A 'promotion,' they'll call it," replied the other guard through gritted teeth. "Kid, shut the hell up."

"Korriedreev, who's your mother?" Dustil asked in a whisper. The kid whirled around and looked up at him with those anguished eyes. The lightsaber was dangerously close to his face. He pressed back against the wall.

_Malak's son is holding a lightsaber to my face. My lightsaber. Oh shit. Mekel..._

A wave of force stasis from the Jedi rippled around them. And broke over them. It was as if...the two of them were in a bubble. The Jedi looked concerned, under all of that impassiveness. Was the kid doing this? The force didn't seem to be in him, just around him, like a web of shining light.

"Don't you know? Your father loves her...but they lied about that too. Why would your father lie about her?"

"My father..."

"They said she was dead, but I knew she couldn't be dead and I was right. She's not dead and the war's over and she'll come get me. She'll come get me." The kid's eyes dropped. "Grandfather said never say her name out loud. Not ever. Not ever, not yet. Maybe when I'm older...and the people only remember that she was a hero, and that she saved them all."

The soldiers were frozen. Frozen from the force.

_Eye of a hurricane._

_My father only loved one hero._

"Revan." The kid had red hair. She had red hair, in that vid about the Sith fleet. On Korriban it was black.

_"I don't know what it's like, to make a sacrifice like your father did, Dustil. Whatever sacrifices I made I can't remember." Revan's voice was as bleak as the stone dormitory room in the Korriban Academy. "But the Sith won't win. I remember what it feels like, when all that's left is hate. And when this is all over, your father wants to have a life with you again. He loves you. He did all of this for you."_

"Your mother's Revan Starfire."

The kid's lip trembled. "Don't say it out loud. But tell them it's a lie. Those things about her are lies!"

"I don't—" _My father's caught up in all of this somehow. Mission said someone bad had him. Mekel said Telos was a lie. Malak's orders, not hers. Revan's coming here. Mission wouldn't follow her if she was bad...but I felt her fall...I felt..._

The red particle blade hummed too close for comfort. The kid had it in a dangerously loose grip. Dustil didn't even want to breathe.

_Malak's son, that's Malak's son. Malak who bombed Telos. Mekel said Malak did. My father said Revan did. He's their son...whichever...he's their son._

He expected the familiar wave of hate, but it didn't come. The kid's eyes were lost and red-rimmed, and his lip was trembling.

_"Say it's a lie!" Selene's fists clenched._

_Master Uthar laughed._

_"Your father was only following orders, Selene. Regret...is a weakness. He'd be disappointed in you."_

Leenie let's just get out of here, let's just run away.

_Their Master looked at Dustil, amused, as if he could see the shape of his thoughts. "Through tragedy, we find hate. Through hate, we find power. Power to leash the dark side of the force, isn't that right, my young apprentice?"_

_"When there's nothing left but hate, there's nothing left at all. That's all I remember." Revan looked at him levelly with cold green eyes. _

_"Come here, Korrie." Dustil breathed._

The blade clattered on the ground, deactivated, and the kid's arms were around his waist again. He was crying, great heaving sobs. Dustil knelt down cautiously, so that they were at eye-level.

"It's a lie," he whispered, not sure what was true anymore. Not sure if it mattered.

_

* * *

_

_Polla Organa_

_Dear Captain Onasi,_

_I feel like I know you, even though we've never met. I'm not sure how a great man like yourself could be mistaken, but our Polla would never be the Dark Lord of the Sith—and since your Revan is practically her, I'm sure that's a lie._

_You know, I can see why our Polla admires you so much. And Revan too. You looked very handsome in that awards ceremony—but you seem so sad._

_In any case, I'm writing to you about Beya Organa, my cousin several times removed. She served the Republic in the Mandalorian wars, and now is on trial for her life in Manaan. Bendowen, her father, is just beside himself with worry. We all are. _

_I may be an old woman, but I know terrible things happen in wartime. But after that, there should be peace and forgiveness. Perhaps you could use your influence to clear Beya's name? After all, she's an Organa—and you should realize that we Organas are quality people._

_I hope you forgive my informality—old women aren't much for ceremony. I've seen many things in my time—_

Auntie Mita was pottering around the kitchen, ostensibly straightening up, but Polla heard crashing noises. She winced—both at the unfinished letter on the vid screen and the presumed carnage of her mother's kitchen. At least Ma wasn't around to hear this—she'd gone to town for more supplies. It was near time for Junior to be born, and Polla was staying here for the birth. Much better than some sterile clinic, Ma said—and that did seem true. Of course the downside was, Polla had to put up with her relatives.

_"Mita!"_

"What is it, dear?" Her aunt's wrinkled face appeared, around the corner of the doorway, scalp shining pink under her white topknot.

Polla tried to count to ten, but that seemed like too much effort. "What in the frack is this letter you're writing?"

"Oh." Her aunt looked guilty. The rest of her came into view, carrying a heavily laden tray of sandwiches.

"Oh? You're writing to Carth Onasi about me?" Polla's voice was furious. She put her hands on her hips, and felt the familiar twinge of pain in her lower back. It was bloody hard to strike a threatening pose when you were swollen up like a weenka gourd at harvest time, but she did try.

"Dear, this isn't about you. I'm writing to him about Beya. The man must have some connections. Perhaps he can help her."

Polla closed her eyes. "Leave my name out of it."

"Well dear, if I do that, he won't listen to me at all. I mean it's almost like you and he were—"

"We've never even met."

"Yes, of course, dear. You shouldn't get so upset so close to your time. Why don't you sit down and eat something? You're looking very pale."

It had been one thing, when they were all safely dead, to speculate and daydream about the heroes of the Star Forge. But that was when they were all dead. Now that they were alive...Polla just wanted to forget about it.

If only her family would let her.

_

* * *

_

_Dustil Onasi_

Somehow they'd all ended up in this small room off the main floor of the Library. Dustil, Malachor, two of the Jedi, and the civvie commander who refused to let the kid out of his sight. The kid was sitting in a chair next to Dustil, holding onto his hand for dear life.

"The grid coming down just then seems like an odd coincidence," one of the Jedi mused, looking at Dustil. Her gnarled hands were folded neatly on the table, and the expression on her wrinkled face was sickeningly serene.

"If you're implying the Eglatine had something to do with that—" the commander broke in angrily "—grid crashes happen all the time!"

The Jedi sighed. "Only too true," she said sadly. "The system is overtaxed and in desperate need of an upgrade. We are fortunate that the casualties were minimal. If that air bus had been full--"

"Master Jopheena wasn't implying anything of the sort," the Eosian Jedi said quietly. His brow wrinkled in a gesture of sincerity. "The Order is doing what it can to help with the tragedy. What we must concern ourselves with now is you, Dustil Onasi. What are you going to do?"

"My orders are to hold them both until the Senator arrives," the commander said.

"Young Dustil is a Republic citizen, free to go where he will," Master Jopheena said. There was an expression in her eyes that Dustil couldn't read. "I sense much darkness in you, young man. So much hate and loss—but also the potential for great good. We could help you, if you choose."

"Don't leave me," the kid whispered. He was trembling.

"What the hell is going on?" Dustil said angrily. "You'd better tell me. Why are there goon squads of Fleet chasing me, why is the kid so scared, and what's wrong with my father?"

The male Jedi raised an eyebrow. "You sense something wrong with your father?"

"I don't have to sense anything! I saw the damn broadcast! Telos is a lie! Someone told me what really happened, who really ordered the attack. You must know that, don't you Jedi know everything?"

The man sighed. "Sadly, no. We don't know everything." He looked pointedly at Malachor. "Perhaps it would be best if we didn't discuss Telos now."

_Yeah, sorry kid, your mother didn't destroy Telos. That was your insane father's work. Poor kid. Two parents and both of them Sith Lords. No wonder he's so messed up._

_Force shit; get out of there, Dust'._ Mekel's consciousness brushed against his mind and then was gone in a flash. Jopheena frowned.

"Master Klee and I can offer you sanctuary, Dustil Onasi. If you choose to take it. Safety for you and your friend—Mekel Jin, isn't it?"

"Thanks...but no fracking way," Dustil spat. "We've been—I've been doing just fine without your help."

He felt the pressure of the force around him, but as long as he held onto the kid's hand, it seemed as if there was a wall of ferraglass between him and the Jedi. Dustil's mouth twisted into a defiant grin.

_Useful trick, you have there, kid. _It was really strange though, because the kid didn't seem to react to the force at all—it was just...there.

"Malachor," the Eosian—Master Klee—frowned. "It's been some time since we've spoken."

"I'm not supposed to talk to you," the kid mumbled. "Grandfather will be angry."

"Still, you should be tested again—I sense something in the force...it's most curious..." The Jedi's voice trailed off, and his orange eyes considered Malachor as if the kid were some kind of lab specimen.

"Grandfather said I don't have any force powers. My father got it late, maybe I will too. Or maybe not. Grandfather said it would be better if I didn't. I'm not supposed to talk to you..." Malachor looked up at Dustil for reassurance. Dustil just stared at him. It was strange the way the force rippled around the kid. The back of his neck prickled.

_Revan and Malak's son._

Malak came to the Academy once, but Dustil's encounter with the Dark Lord had been mercifully brief.

_"Onasi, Dustil. From Telos." The clipped metallic voice read his name off the roster and Dustil stepped forward, heart pounding. _

_"Master." He knelt formally on the cold stone floor. Behind him the other apprentices stood in a line. No one dared breathe for fear of the consequences. Uthar and Yuthura stood, arms crossed, surveying their charges for the slightest infraction. Reprisal for any weakness would be swift and final. No one had to tell them that._

_The Dark Lord of the Sith loomed above him, black eyes boring through the top of Dustil's skull as if he could see everything in it._

_A dark chuckle issued forth from the man's artificial jaw._

_"Oddly fitting," the Dark Lord said. "Tell me, young Onasi. What do you think of your homeworld's destruction?"_

_Dustil didn't need to think to know what to say. He'd rehearsed the words in his mind over and over again, ever since Selene vanished and he was left truly alone at the Academy. _

_"The experience made me stronger," Dustil said. "A world that cannot defend itself doesn't deserve to exist."_

_"Your father serves the Republic, does he not? Admiral Karath was always impressed with his dedication, even to a losing cause."_

_Dustil dared to look up from the floor. The cold eyes were rimmed with yellow. Lord Malak's face was utterly damned, and the force rippled around him with so much power that it seemed hard to breathe._

_"I am _not_ my father," Dustil said coldly._

_The Dark Lord of the Sith chuckled again. Horrible toneless laughter. "Well said, young Onasi. You have much potential." The bald head nodded at him in a gesture of dismissal. Dustil got up and walked back to the line._

"You should be tested again, Malachor D'Reev," Klee said.

Malachor's hand was small and sweaty. Dustil squeezed it reassuringly.

"Haven't you Jedi done enough?" The words tumbled out of Dustil's mouth before he had a chance to consider them. "You sit here on Coruscant and send people like my father out on suicide missions!" He refused to think about it._ Can they see my thoughts?_ He tried to imagine a thick wall of duracrete. A wall with no windows and no doors.

Some unspoken communication passed between the two brown-robes. The commander stood awkwardly at the door looking really uncomfortable. "Promotion to a prison detail," he muttered. "If I'm lucky."

"If you come with us now we can offer you sanctuary, Dustil Onasi," the woman said finally. "But you must decide soon. There isn't much time."

"Sanctuary from what? If you want me to trust you, you have to tell me what the frack is going on!"

The commander was whispering something into his commlink. "The Senator requests that you stay, Citizen Onasi," he said. "Your father is with him, they're almost here."

The kid's chin lifted and he glared at the Jedi. "My grandfather's not gonna be happy to see you talking to me."

"Malachor," Jopheena said gently. Her eyes were sad. "I knew your parents, years ago. The Knights D'Reev were great Jedi."

"Then say it's a lie!" The kid's voice rang out across the room. "Those things on the vids are a lie!" His chin trembled.

The brown-robe blinked, and nodded her head slightly. Master Klee shot her a warning glance. "Jopheena..."

"Some of those things they say are lies, yes." The woman stared at her hands as if there were answers written on them. She raised her head slowly and looked hard at them both. "But as with all things, the lines between lies and truth, dark and light...blur. Remember. You always have a choice."

Dustil's lip curled. "Yeah? Did _Revan_ have a choice?"

The old woman looked at him. "She has one now," she said quietly.

The Eosian Jedi frowned.

_

* * *

_

_Mission__ Vao_

They'd gone inside the library, and since they weren't using any terms she was blind. Well maybe Dustil would escape somehow. To have survived this long, the boy must have some resources, although Mission wasn't optimistic. She surveyed the damage outside from the security cam. All things considered, it could have been worse. The grids went down a lot, but Coruscantis were well-prepared. Medical reports only indicated ten deaths. Acceptable, considering the circumstances. Just last week a regular traffic accident in the next sector over had caused thirty. No alarms would be raised. She would have breathed a sigh of relief.

Except it was really frustrating that the damn boy hadn't just run away when she'd created this perfectly good distraction for him.

"Considering everything, Rulan, don't you think it's time to renegotiate the terms of our contract?" She used Polla-Revan's soft voice to say the words, well aware that the quiet drawl carried a heavy implicit threat.

Not that threats seemed to work on the shapeshifter.

"I assumed Lord Revan planned some action against the Jedi Council. Since I have no contract with their order, I would have been glad to assist." Rulan looked apologetic, and his lekku twisted down in a gesture of unfortunate regret. "But as things are...what do you have in mind?"

"Non-interference from your order. A binding contract of non-interference."

Rulan shrugged. His hands were working the knots on his...whatever it was. She ran a scan of the patterns. Some kind of art, maybe, popular in the Farlax sector. It was supposed to be very soothing for sentients.

"That might be expensive," His fingers deftly twisted the knots. It looked like a spiral pattern, _uythas-gree, the pathway to god,_ they called it on Widek.

"I could just kill you," Mission reminded him. "Here and now."

His lekku twisted, but his face remained impassive. "Why don't you?"

Mission considered. Practically speaking, eliminating wild cards was a good strategic move. And this Genoharadan was a wild card, no question. A shapeshifting assassin running loose could cause all sorts of trouble.

"I could just kill you," Mission repeated.

"So you've said." Rulan raised his right lekku in inquiry. With his left, he sketched a sum in the air. It was impressively large.

She'd have to make another run on the markets if she wanted to fund the Kashyyyk project and pay Rulan off. And it's not like sentients don't clue in to the same trick twice....well it was for a good cause. She couldn't kill him. He was one of the last of his kind, and biodiversity was important—under controlled conditions.

"Agreed," Mission said. "Where shall I transfer the funds?"

"There's a religious order on Widek..." Rulan began.

"All sentients must have some small faith in the patterns of the universe," Mission quoted. "Brother Egon's Tomes of Enlightenment."

"I'm glad to see you've been doing some reading," the shapeshifter said.

If she had teeth they'd be bared. "I try and keep up with these things."

On Kashyyyk dawn broke slowly through the forest, filtered soft yellow light through a haze of green. The wookiees were lighting the ceremonial fires around her console, and singing the songs of a new day, and the prophecies of empire.

_

* * *

_

_Carth Onasi_

The cruiser landed in the middle of the street across from a large curved building made of glass. Most of the debris was gone, but there were still some of the larger fragments lying around, and the ground was blackened and smoking where the transports had crashed. It looked like the end of a war zone. Carth followed the Senator off the ship, his mind barely registering the wreckage around them.

The driver's side door opened, and an all too-familiar copper-colored droid emerged, with a smooth whir. In spite of himself, his breath drew back in a sharp hiss.

"Ah, the HK. Of course." D'Reev said. "She made it for me, years ago." He smiled sadly. "For me and Malachor. To keep us safe." He frowned at the line of civvie guards that had moved in to flank the cruiser. "Where is your commander?"

"I-inside the Library, sir." One of them said hesitantly. Her eyes caught Carth's for a moment and she blushed and looked at her feet. "W-w-with the...boys and the j-j-jedi."

_The boys. My son. Dustil and Revan's son. Malachor. He's eight. When Dustil was eight I signed for a second tour of duty. More money for a pilot there than with the home guard, and I supported the Republic—not exactly a popular position on Telos at the time. But I believed the Mandalorians were a threat to us all. I believed in the broadcast I saw, those two Jedi knights caught on Eos. Those two young faces, Revan and Malak...._

_"If you don't want to help us, help Malachor," the man said, his young voice breaking._

That vid. _Widebeam broadcast across a hundred worlds._

_Malak didn't mean the star system at all. He was talking about his son. He was only a father, scared for his son, as I was for Dustil. What went wrong? What went so terribly wrong?_

Carth made himself put one foot in front of the other and followed D'Reev into the Library.

_That poor kid. D'Reev hasn't told him about his mother. He doesn't know how to tell him. He wants me to help? How do you tell a kid something like that? He's eight. He's only eight years old._

_I don't know what to tell him, but I'll keep him safe, safe from her._

"I appreciate this, Captain Onasi." The old man's voice was tight with strain. He walked them quickly past the wide-eyed woman in white at the reception desk and onto the main floor. It was empty, although a brown-robed Fosh watched them from one of the large tables in the center of the room, feathers backlit in a halo of light refracting from the solars thousands of meters overhead.

Carth's skin prickled. _One of the Jedi._ He didn't trust them at all.

The HK followed them, soundless. Had HK-47 moved this silently? Carth couldn't remember. The damn droid talked so much it was hard to picture him as an assassin droid, despite what he claimed about his programming. This version was different.

_Something about all of this felt wrong._

_Dustil, I'm here. Dustil._

D'Reev led them unerringly to a door on the side of the chamber near the elevator banks. It slid open. Inside, a long conference table, a man and a woman in brown robes, a civvie guard standing at attention. And two boys. Dustil looked half-grown and more than half-wild, with the shadow of a man's beard on his face and the shadows of old fears in his dark eyes. Morgana's eyes. He stood up as they entered the room, hand reaching for something that wasn't on his empty belt loop in almost defensive gesture. The smaller boy sitting next to him stood up too, gray eyes too big for his round face. Red hair. Tall for his age.

Carth's chest tightened, looking at the two of them.

_I'm here now, I'll keep you safe, both of you..._

"Dustil," he breathed.

His son's jaw clenched and those black eyes flashed. "Father."

Dustil looked so wary it made his heart ache. Ignoring that, ignoring everyone else in the room—the commander was starting to stammer something that sounded like an apology—the Jedi were still seated—and D'Reev was very still, listening to the commander's explanations—Carth strode in and caught his son in a hug. He was thin and ragged and his clothes smelled like dust and mildew._ Where's he been living? What has he been eating? Is he ok?_ Hesitantly, Dustil hugged him back. He was almost as tall as Carth now, but his head bent down and pressed into his father's neck against his ear.

"Father, we need to talk," Dustil whispered.

"We will, I promise." Carth breathed in the smell of his son, the real presence of him._ Here. Alive. Safe._ He felt something in his chest loosen, like calm relief._ Everything will be fine now. Everything will be fine._

_"_Captain Onasi?" A small voice said.

He looked down, pulled back from Dustil. Revan's son looked up at him with Malak's eyes.

He forced himself to smile comfortingly. "You must be Malachor."

"Call me Korrie," the boy said, glancing nervously at his grandfather. He could see the echo of her everywhere in the boy's features. That red hair, the same stubborn chin.

The old man nodded, a benevolent smile on his face. "You can leave now," the Senator said to the Jedi. "Commander Qan'Jin, I'll see you get a promotion for this."

The commander coughed. "I was only doing my duty, protecting the Eglatine, Senator. I'll...be outside. To escort you to your cruiser when you're ready."

The commander left hastily but the Jedi didn't budge.

"Malachi D'Reev, we formally ask you again for permission to test the child for force sensitivity. In light of recent events, the Order may be the safest place for him."

The old Eosian's voice was careful and cultivated. The woman seemed poised to speak too, but she said nothing.

"I don't have any stupid force," the child muttered. "Captain Onasi, will you tell them it's all a lie? About my mother? You know her...is she coming here for me?" His voice wavered, and the gray eyes brimmed with tears. "Why did you say those bad things about her?"

His words fell like stones in the suddenly silent room.

D'Reev raised an eyebrow. Such a small reaction, but underneath that lurked something darker. "What have you been telling my grandson, Jedi?" Without a change in his voice he made that one word sound like an expletive.

The old woman's face was expressionless. "Didn't your men tell you? Malachor got on the nets himself." She shrugged. There were undercurrents here that Carth didn't understand. "I can only imagine what he saw."

"Get out." The Senator's voice was still even, but there was more command behind those words than a polite request between equals.

The Eosian rose smoothly to his feet, glancing down at the woman, who refused to budge. "You'll be hearing from the Council, Malachi D'Reev," he said. "The child exhibits signs of force sensitivity. Under Coruscanti law, no child, not even a Senator's heir, is exempt from testing. As you well know."

"I gave you my son," the old man whispered. "You will not have Malachor."

The woman blinked placidly and got to her feet. "Your son served you well, Malachi D'Reev, for a time. Your son and his wife."

"Get out." The old man's hand trembled, and he rubbed his temples. Malachor watched it all, wide-eyed. Carth felt a wave of protectiveness. The Jedi were circling like birds of prey, picking at old grief.

"Please go," Carth said quietly, even though he felt like screaming.

Dustil stood very still. He looked frightened.

"Dustil Onasi, there will always be a place for you in the order, if that is your choice," the old woman said to his son. "Everyone has a choice."

Her eyes fell on Carth and she looked away quickly. Was that pity in her eyes? Pity for him?

_If you Jedi had just killed Revan when you stormed her flagship, if you hadn't sent us off on that fool's quest alone, if you had told her who she was...if...you hadn't ordered me to follow her...none of this..._

"The Council owes you a great debt, Captain Onasi," the old woman said. "You faced a great darkness on the Star Forge. And you won."

Carth watched them leave, bitter laughter welling in his throat. So bitter he could choke on it. _Right. I saved the Dark Lord of the Sith. Surely you can't think you can redeem her again?_

_Some things are beyond redemption. I was such a fool._

The door hissed shut. They were alone in the room. Two broken families. The Senator and his grandson and Dustil and him. And the HK droid, watching everything with red metal eyes. Dustil glanced at it nervously.

"That's..."

"Revan made it for me," the Senator said quietly. "Before they left for the wars." His voice was shaking and he sat down. "There were two; she took the other one with them."

"Oh." Dustil seemed so contained, so careful, it made Carth want to hit something. Where was his careless happy son? _He was like this on Korriban. The same contained rage. Hasn't he learned anything since then? What if my son falls to the dark side again? What if my son...is like Revan?_

_Promise me..._

Carth's hands clenched. Small fingers tugged at the sleeve of his ridiculous jacket.

"Say it's a lie, Captain Onasi?" Malachor begged him. "You're here, so she must be coming too?"

"Korrie." The Senator's voice was heavy with old sadness.

Carth did what he could. He knelt down, so that he was eye-level with the boy and looked into that face, met those gray eyes that were shaped just like her green ones. Freckles on the boy's nose. That same nose; wider at the base than the brow, with a slight downward tilt.

He and Morgana had always believed in telling Dustil the truth, even when the truth wasn't pleasant. But there was no reason to hurt the boy.

"Your mother must have loved you very much, Korrie," he said, meeting those eyes. "More than anything, she wanted you to be safe." He took the child's hands in his own. "I promise I'll keep you safe."

Malachor had her same stubborn chin. It lifted, and his wide mouth curved down in a pout. "I just want her to come back," he said.

"I'll keep you safe," Carth promised again. His eyes met Dustil's over the boy's shoulder. His son was studying them both, a line of concentration between his brows._ Is he jealous? He looks worried. Why is worried? We're together now. Everything will be fine now, everything..._

The Senator sighed. "Under the circumstances, I've cancelled our luncheon. I hope you and Dustil will accept my invitation to come to our apartments. We can all speak in much more comfort there." His heavy-lidded eyes blinked. "You both are welcome as my guests, until your own quarters are ready. For the next week or so, I think, if the contractor's estimates can be trusted."

To Carth's surprise, Dustil balked.

"I've got somewhere to go," his son muttered.

"You have to come!" Malachor's childish treble brooked no refusal.

"Son, please come..." Carth began, uncertainly. It had never occurred to him that Dustil wouldn't want to come with him.

"Father..." Dustil looked at him entreatingly. _This all must be such a shock to him._ Carth wanted to laugh._ Hell, it's all such a shock to me..._

His son took a deep breath. He was so thin and ragged. _We'll get him some better clothes, and a sonic. And a barber. And some food. And I'll find some way to make his eyes look less frightened. Some way..._

Carth tried a smile. It was the first genuine one he'd managed all day. "Son. I'm so glad to see you...I wrote to you, did you get any of my letters?"

His smile faded as quickly as it had come, as he remembered who had set up that drop box on Yavin IV.

_"I don't speak Shyriiwook very well, but is that password really saying, 'Your fleas are my fleas'?"_

_Jolee Bindo chuckled. "It's a wookiee courting phrase. From an old poem. 'Your fleas are my fleas, your hunt is my hunt, your tree is my tree.'" He glanced fondly at the sleeping twi'lek. Mission had fallen asleep in the co-pilot's chair again. The Ebon Hawk sped onward towards their destiny. "I think the kid has a crush on your son."_

_Carth laughed softly. He didn't want to wake her, or Revan, who was sprawled in the navigator's seat, murmuring softly in her sleep. They'd cleared the Korriban system and made the first jump, on the way to Tatooine. Then Yavin and then the unknown._

_The old Jedi grinned at him. "Isn't young love a beautiful thing?"_

Carth blinked his eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat.

"I-I-I'm sorry about Mission, Dustil. S-she—liked you, very much," He couldn't meet Dustil's eyes. Carth looked at the ground.

"Sorry?" His son's voice sounded confused.

_He doesn't know. Maybe he thought that since I was alive, that we all were alive. He doesn't know...how much I failed him._

There was nothing to do but come out and say it. "I buried her on the beach..." his voice trailed off. "She liked the beach; she'd never seen one before."

_"This is much nicer than Manaan! Come on Big Z, get in the water!" Mission jumped through the spray, laughing._

"Mission's not dead." Dustil's voice was absolute. _Oh son._ Carth raised his head and met those cold black eyes. "She's not," his son repeated. For a moment he sounded as young and confused as Malachor talking about his mother. That same desperation to believe.

The Senator got to his feet and coughed. "We should go," the old man said, gently.

Carth took Malachor's hand in his, and reached for Dustil's. His son pulled away from him, with that same angry look on his face again. He'd had that look when Carth told him about Selene too. Carth's words of comfort died on his lips.

"I'll come," Dustil said. He shot a suspicious glance at the old man's back. His jaw was trembling with unshed tears. Carth knew better than to offer him any more comfort. Not right now, not yet. Some things you just had to face.

* * *

A/N in general. Thanks as always for reading. Apologies for the delay in updating, the move is pretty much done and we have internet again. And mucho thanks to Ether for beta-readin this...any grammatical mistakes still herein are my own typos and not the result of her excellent grammar and general excellent-ness. 

Tim Radley / Wow, thanks! No one getting an easy pass...no...this latest chapter is really rough on Dustil (Didn't I say it wouldn't be? Well, uh...). In the next Mekel shall play his part. Now go update your ownfict! I want to know if I am right about...well, uh, what I think is going to happen. Heh.

Prisoner / As I said, really glad you liked the lack of empathy idea. It's something I've been building up to, but I wasn't sure how cheesy the revelation of it would be. And Selene's a minor character, but also as I've said, not something I would have thought of if Someone Else (cough cough) hadn't fleshed out the Onasi/Karath relationships so damn well. Selene gets short shift here, I'm sure there's more to her story...

Lunatic Pandora1 / I promise! Soon!! But first her ship's gotta land on Coruscant...Here's some reunion stuff for ya though.

xenzen / Banthas are cows? I've already decided there is milk in the star wars universe, so it seems not a stretch? Buffalos are cows. And arentfemale oxen cows too? Bovine family?Doh. Bothan. Thwack self. (Makes note for continuity edit). More Carth angst here...do you think he 'really' needs to know about Rahasia? (Well yes, then he'd know D'Reev wasn't a Nice Man...but...I'm sure he will figure that out.) I promise you, again, a happy ending. Sometime. Sort of.

ether-fanfic / Thankee muchly Ms. Beta!! Lower body count, good yes? More thanks inc in yr email...

Firera / There are lots of actors that play Carth, but there were no actors that played Carth on the Pearl. Rahasia thought Carth was an actor...Carth thought she was Revan...in a dream/fantasy sequence that was no dream. I thought about the locker guy as a route down the dark path actually...but she killed the scientists on Manaan too...so...I think I can work locker guy in. Perhaps in the Manaan trial? I like Malak too, lol.

snackfiend101 / heh, thanks, as I said for trying not to spill the beans on Malachor—although of course, they be pretty much spilled. There's only so much suspense even I can stand.

Again, all, thanks for reading!


	13. The Golden Wheel of Fate

Disclaimer: as previous

Author's notes at end of Chapter 14

This was originally one large chapter, I like it that way, but uploads seem stranger on larger files, and perhaps, the narrativepause isn't such a bad thing either.

* * *

**Chapter 13 / The Golden Wheel of Fate**

_Mekel Jin_

_What's wrong with my father? What's going on? The kid's scared stiff, the old man is creepy, fracking Jedi...and what's wrong with my father? It's like he's not him. He's...broken. _

Another wave of fury hit so hard that Mekel staggered against the gamorrean sitting next to him. The sent' had several boxes full of cheap batteries on his lap and they spilled across the tube floor. Several people glared. The gamorrean snuffled curses and stood to pick them up. His tusks were worn down to stubs, and his hide was dull with age, but he still looked pretty much like bad news. Mekel slid out of the seat and backed away fast, muttering an apology. Staggering a little, he made his way into the next car.

_Who did this to him? Who did this to my father? _Dustil's voice screamed in his mind.

_Stop it, Dust'—please._

It was like Dustil couldn't hear him, or didn't want to. All of his energy was focused on wherever he was, whatever was happening there. _Fracking Onasi reunion—what, you thought it would be happy? _If Mekel closed his eyes he'd probably see it too so he kept them open.

He thought things had stabilized when another wave of loss hit so hard that he fell flat on his ass. People laughed. Mekel scrambled painfully to his feet and got off at the next stop. He'd walk the underways the rest of the way home. At least if someone tried to roll him, he could lash out.

_Damnit, Telos. Stop. It. Now. You're going to get me fracking killed._

_She's not dead! Mission's not dead! What's wrong with my father? Mekel, why did you leave?_

_Of course she's not dead, you're father's been fracked with, remember? Her message? Mission's message? Meet her at the Wheel. Well I will, I'll do it for you, just calm the hell down. Are you ok?_

He could only sense emotional distress—Dustil didn't seem to be trapped or injured or anything, just more waves of hate and loss and anger.

_Did the Jedi do this to him? There were two of them, trying to offer me sanctuary. Fracking liars, did they do this to my father?_

_Dustil—please. _Mekel was having a hard time walking. He staggered against the wall of the station, eliciting more amused glances from the other unders. Just another tranked-out kid, stumbling around the underground. Dimly through his own senses he was aware of two shadows behind him. Preds, probably...looking for an easy mark.

_Damnit, Telos. Stop it! _

Somehow the anger helped clear his head. Mekel quickened his steps, heading towards the stairway that led to level 40. Stair mechs would be broken of course, but he could run down them, if he had to. Behind him came the tread of other feet. The hallway dimmed as the lights flickered. He walked faster.

_Catch them on the stairs. Roll them before they roll me. Simple. _

An archway covered in broken tile and rusted corusteel. Water dripped somewhere above and the ground was damp. Mekel thought out the logistics automatically, trying to reason with Dustil at the same time.

_Look. Mission said a bad man has your father. You said D'Reev was with your father. D'Reev is a bad man, ok? Everyone knows that. Therefore, I'd assume you're in a bad place. Get the hell out, Telos._

_I can't just leave him. And there's the kid..._.Dustil's thoughts were more orderly now, Dimly Mekel was aware of a white space and the hum of a groundside engine. Dustil was on a ship, taking off, heading up. He almost felt a pang of envy. _Dustil gets to go up in the clouds and me, I scuttle off like a sewer slug, back down to my cave._

_Must be nice to be special._

_Special?!? Are you fracking nuts Mekk? _Oops, he hadn't meant for Dustil to hear that thought. It was really hard--the younger boy's emotions were playing hell with his barriers.

_That kid. He's really Malak and Revan's son? _Mekel was a little incredulous. He remembered the kid's face; the whole thing had been very weird.

_He's strange, it's very weird..._uncanny how Dustil's thoughts echoed his own. Or maybe not so uncanny. _What do you know about D'Reev, Mekel?_

_He's a Senator, one of the important ones. He controls most of the media. And you've seen the nets lately...that's how we got into this mess. Oh. And his son hated his guts. Darth Malak thought his father was the worst thing in the universe._

_How do you know that?_

_Nevermind. _Mekel slammed _that_ door shut with a thud. _Telos, get out of there, ok? Stick with the plan. We'll get your father back somehow._

Past the archway the hallway opened into a large vertical shaft with a metal stairway in its center that curled in a spiral. Stairs ran from level 25 on down, with access points at each level; but down this far they weren't often used. Things lived down here, and people who were worse than things. The light was very dim. Mekel ducked into the shadows at the stairwell's entrance. A pattern of metal bars separated him from the edge. It was a long drop down. _Perfect._

He heard the feet approach. Quiet and quick. Mekel reached out with the force to try and get a sense of his pursuers.

And met a perfect wall.

_Oh shit._

XXX

_Malachi D'Reev_

'Happy accident' is an old Coruscanti phrase used for circumstances beyond one's control with fortunate repercussions. As HK flew the cruiser the short distance back to the D'Reev apartments, the old man considered the two Onasis sitting across from him. Pondering, he wondered if these events qualified.

Malachor was a statue on the bench beside him. The boy knew he'd done wrong, although D'Reev was almost pleased to see the child show _some _initiative. Of late, his grandson had done little but look upset and cry when he thought no one was looking.

Cry about his mother, of course.

The boy didn't have the force in a way that could be measured—he had his own ways of testing that, Jedi Council be damned--but there was a bond there, between mother and son. Or rather, half of one. She had no idea; he'd made sure of that when he authorized the Jedi to do the mindwipe in the first place. How it had irked the Council, to beg for his approval... approval he'd given only after certain guarantees had been exchanged. Inwardly he mocked the code of ethics that made them even ask. Darth Revan's detainment happened far out on the Outer Rim, and they could have done whatever they wanted. Only their misguided sense of morality required that they get the consent of her closest living relative. Vrook Lamar had no official claim to that title, since members of the Jedi Council renounced such things, along with their worldly possessions, upon ascension to their posts. He'd heard the old man had made some kind of token protest, regardless. For all the good it did.

Of course those same ties that bound D'Reev fortunes to Revan Starfire were a double-edged blade...now.

The old man frowned and considered the two pawns—how appropriate to use the Mandalorian term--in front of him. The father's reaction to Malachor had been everything he'd hoped for. The man's protective and absurdly heroic nature could be shaped as easily as clay. But his son could be difficult. The lad had the force, after all, and who knows what he could sense or suspect. Wrinkled hands tapped an absent pattern on the table as D'Reev contemplated what measures would be appropriate. He'd know more, when he had a chance to study their reactions to each other. He'd have to decide if Dustil was worth the risk.

The younger Onasi was shifting on his seat and looking uncomfortable  
while the older one said soothing things.

"I'm sorry I disobeyed you, Grandfather," Malachor offered meekly.

D'Reev stretched his lips into a familial smile. "It's natural that you would be curious, Korrie."

His grandson bit his lip and looked at the floor. "The other Egs teased me. I had to know if they were making it up, that there were things about her on that nets...why are they telling lies about her?" Malachor looked up suddenly, accusation in his eyes. "Why don't you stop them from telling those lies, Grandfather?"

D'Reev sighed and patted the boy's hand. "No one really knows what happened to your mother," he began. "But I've told you before; the force is a dangerous thing. Power must be wielded with great responsibility and great care."

He wondered if Captain Onasi would interject. But the man was silent, staring at Malachor with predictable sadness in his eyes. Well, perhaps later. The younger Onasi made a face and rolled his eyes.

_A loose turbine, that one. _Regrettable. Still, better he retained control of the lad than the Jedi. The boy had shown a healthy suspicion of _their_ motives...you didn't need to be a force user to see a thing like that. Every emotion the young Onasi had played on his face. Right now he looked angry, and disbelieving. Not surprising. How to shift those doubts to right side?

"Throughout history, events have been shaped by the force, and the sentients who posses it," Malachi D'Reev began. "Sometimes in the present, it is difficult to tell which actions are for the greater good or the greater harm. But those who attempt to harness great power are often the victims of it." He risked a humble grin, directed to Captain Onasi. "We mortals bumble along as best we can; it's all that we can do."

"She promised she'd..." his grandson's voice trailed off and those young eyes looked almost wary. "Don't you want her to come back to us, Grandfather?"

D'Reev sighed heavily and took his grandson's hand.

"I know it was very hard on you, Korrie, accepting what happened to your father."

"He couldn't come back anymore," the child whispered. "And then he died. But M-mother—now that she's not dead and she's a hero..."

It had, upon reflection, been a mistake, letting the boy watch the entire _Official Coruscanti Version._ But he would have heard about it regardless. Although the Eglatines were supposed to be sheltered from the outside world until their official recognition, children pick things up. And not all of their guardians were as traditional as him. D'Reev sighed, _happy accidents..._

It was all a question of perspective.

The ship angled into the docking bay of their compound, and the engines shifted smoothly to a stop.

"Declaration: we have arrived, Master. Shall I prepare some refreshment for our guests?" HK's voice clicked over the intercom.

"Thank you, HK. In the library, please. And tell Sidona to arrange the two rooms next to the family wing upstairs—the ones with the interconnecting suite. I'd imagine our guests would like some time alone."

Not to mention those rooms had excellent and very unobtrusive monitoring systems.

He'd have to move them out of here and into the apartments he'd prepared before her arrival, of course—the D'Reev compound was _not _part of her ultimate and final destiny. Risk to Malachor was out of the question. Although...now that Onasi knew...the old man allowed himself the small indulgence of imagining how Revan would take the news of her son's existence, coming from the mouth of her former lover. Impractical, really—but nonetheless, a rather pleasant fantasy.

_Happy accidents._ He hadn't felt so alive in years.

XXX

_Mekel Jin_

_Shit, shit, shit._

"Mekel Jin." They stood in the entranceway. The taller one was falleen, slender and scaled. No way of judging her age; but she wore the dark brown robes of a Jedi Master, and her voice was weighted with the experience of ages. Pale eyes, almost white, gleamed in the darkness against a gold face. Like all of her kind, she had that frightening graceful beauty that made you go hot and cold all at once. At least normally. Right now it was just one more threat.

Mekel pressed back against the rickety metal embankment and wondered if he could survive a jump to the level below. _Miscalculate and fall to your death. Splat. The end._

Dustil's thoughts broke in, like a CoruSec at an underground squat.

_We're going to be D'Reev's guests, he says. Something is very wrong with my father. And this old man is really fracking creepy._

_Not now, Dust'. Shit. _

"We _know_ you're there, Mekel. Come out. Master Iridel just wants to talk to you."

The other robed figure was Thalia May, dressed in smart Padawan beige. She looked well-rested, well-kept and nauseatingly content. Far cry from the shivering coward who'd run off to hide in the shyrack caves on Korriban when she couldn't hack it in the Academy...

Mekel pulled his 'saber out, but did not activate it. He wasn't a complete idiot like Telos, standing off five squads like some kind of hero out of the Golden Age. If they rushed him he'd throw it at them and run. Would buy him a few seconds...maybe...

_Maybe they don't know I'm here? _He crouched down farther in the shadows.

The falleen Master's eyes looked straight at him. _Yeah right, fat chance. They know. They know everything. No different than Uthar or Yuthura. It's no different. They're stronger and there's nothing you can do but obey..._

_---or run._

"You're confused," she said gently, stepping forward.

"I'm fine," Mekel called out, gritting his teeth. "Don't come any closer. Go away. I don't want your help."

The falleen frowned. "It is no longer safe to leave you unattended, Mekel Jin. We had hoped that you would find your way out of the darkness and seek the healing that you need of your own volition...but time grows short."

"How so?" Mekel asked, stalling for more of it. His skin prickled with the force moving all around them like currents in the wind.

"_She's_ coming here," Thalia said, a trace of awe in her voice still. "The Masters say it will be soon."

"Coruscant's popular. Center of the universe. The Reef offers many delights to all sorts," Mekel spat back. "What does that have to do with me?"

He kept his thoughts as locked as he could, dimly aware that somewhere Dustil was battering on them. Now was really the wrong time to think about what it had to do with him, or what he thought about it. _She_—don't even think about her name—don't even think it out loud--was terrifying. He'd agreed to help—_no no no. Shut up, shut up, shut up. Her son...no no no. Her son was his son. Malak's son. Darth Malak's son too._

_Don't think about him either._

The falleen's eyes were luminous in the dim light. "Your friend is caught in the middle of something much larger than himself, Mekel Jin. For his sake, as well as your own, you should accept our sanctuary."

Instead of thinking more, Mekel tried to gather as many strands of the force as he could. Build them into a shield—or a ladder.

"Why do you fear the Jedi so much?" Golden-skinned hands opened in a gesture of peace.

"Being Sith, I tend to think of you as the opposition," Mekel hedged.

A ridged brow rose. "You think of yourself as Sith?"

"You're not seeming very sithy right now, Mekk," Thalia commented. Her brown-skinned face almost had a smirk on it now.

Smirking at him. Thalia always was an asshole.

"The Sith gave me a home. What did you_ Jedi_ ever offer me?" He said that louder than he meant to. The words echoed around them.

The brown-robe frowned. "I've looked into your case, Mekel. All children of Coruscant must be tested for force sensitivity. I'm not sure how you were overlooked..." Her talons made a gesture of apology and the sincerity radiated off her in waves.

"Yeah, right," Mekel said. "That rule's really enforced in the underground, where we actually _use_ the force to get things done. I was picking locks with my mind when I was six, _Master _Iridel. Moms found that just as useful as my big round eyes in the beggar's quarter. I'm not part of _your_ Coruscant, I never was. Only one force user I ever met from this stinking planet ever gave a damn about me..."

_Ok, bad time to remember that. Really bad time. Hell._

XXX

_The black hooded figure was impossibly tall, and walked the deserted streets of Bone Alley like he owned them._

_Twelve--year old Mekel Jin figured him for a slumming mark. Maybe a perv, but it was hard to get a reading on him. Weird. Well, whatever. Didn't really matter, all he needed was that nice fat groundside wallet. _

_He pulled out the corrugated shiv, just in case the unpredictable powers he relied on for all his tricks failed. _

Never leave anything to chance,_ just like Uncle Kris said. _

_"Excuse me, sir," his child's voice piped high and clear. Perfect timing, the undersec patrol wasn't due round again for another fifteen. Left him just enough time. Body might be too heavy to drag off, but he could just duck down a few levels for a few days. Live high on the takings. "Is there anything I can do for you?"_

_The figure stopped walking and turned around._

_Mekel moved forward, looking shyly at the ground. Look helpless and get in close, then zap away...the mark was huge—but that didn't really matter. Big ones fell down just the same._

_"Reef spawn," the man chuckled. There was something wrong with his voice; the words were strangely...mushy...somehow. "What level of our world swept you in with the tide, little one?"_

_"Forty-seven," Mekel said. The words just fell out of his mouth. The shiv fell out of his hand and clattered on the floor._

Oh. This was a mistake. Big one.

_He raised his head up, pulse pounding in the back of his throat and looked into the man's face. You see a lot of bad things in the underground. The big rotting hole that exposed teeth and sinew and bone on the side of his mouth really wasn't the worst thing at all. _

_Worse were those eyes._

_Yellow and black and burning like the charnel pits on level 60. Where all the dead men go. Where all men go, eventually. The one thing that really was equal on this teeming world. In the end, you all get dumped off at level 60._

_"Do you know what I am?" the man asked him._

_Mekel tried to run, but he couldn't. Those eyes held him pinned like a bug. _

_The man had the power more than anyone he'd ever seen. The force, same thing Mekel had, only so strong that it rippled around him in waves. How had he missed it before?_

_"S-s-some kind of Jedi?" _Some kind of really bad fallen Jedi_. There were rumors about them, now that the war was over. Rumors of a bigger war coming and the old heroes changing sides._

_The man laughed. "I'm an apprentice to a new order, little reef rat. I'm a Coruscanti son, the same as you. Born high or born low, in the new world we'll build none of that will matter. Only power matters—and I sense a great potential in you. Would you like to join us?"_

_"I—I don't understand."_

_The man looked amused. "We're founding a school for children like you, Mekel Jin. Reopening one, actually, in a place far away from here. We can teach you to do more with your power than roll marks in the undercity. Master the force, and become a master of a new age."_

_The force rippled around them. The man paged through his mind, laying it all bare. All of it. His ruined smile grew wider._

_"More than anything else, you want to leave this place, don't you, Mekel Jin?"_

_"Yes." Just one word. That was all it took. Part of him wasn't even angry. For the first time in his life, Mekel actually felt something like hope._

_The tall man offered him an arm. He took it, docile as any trick after a few shots of starbright._

_Mekel had never seen the stars, never even seen the sky—not really. Few times groundside, all he'd seen was rain and clouds._

_The ship was small and fast and extremely expensive. They cleared customs with a wave of the tall man's hand._

_The stars on the way to Korriban were beautiful._

_"You're one of the Sith?" he asked finally, trying to put a definition on his new way of life, trying to reconcile the new clothes and the sonics and three square meals a day of food he'd never heard of with some kind of cause. The man didn't seem to want anything else from him, which was a big relief. Just fed him and clothed him and left him alone with the nets and vids. The man seemed lost in his own thoughts much of the time, although sometimes, the man cried._

But don't think about that. Not now and not ever.

_"I'm a _lord_ of the Sith, Mekel Jin."_

_"And you came to Coruscant for _me_?" His voice came out in a squeak. It was cracking now, sometimes high and sometimes low. He flushed and wished he could control it._

_"Don't flatter yourself." The man scowled suddenly, and Mekel backed down, way down, all the way across the room down. "I came home, to learn one final lesson that my _Master_ couldn't teach me."_

_"You have a master?" Mekel was shocked. The man didn't look like a slave. Not that there were slaves—officially—on Coruscant—but of course, unofficially, it was one way up from the underground. Or so he'd heard._

_"Don't you want to know the lesson?" the man was mocking him now. Mekel clenched his fists and glared. The man smiled approvingly._

_"Yes." He wanted to learn everything, everything that there was. The universe was a big place, and all he'd ever learned was the way things ran in the Coruscanti underground._

_"You can never go home again, Coruscanti son." The tall man laughed. "At least, not until you have the means to make it all burn." He shook his head slowly. His fingers plucked at the ruined place in his jaw. It was a little bigger now, and the skin around the injury looked inflamed. Kolto packs didn't help. They'd tried that already. That had been the first time he'd seen the man cry. Then he'd gotten very angry and Mekel had been afraid. He'd realized that he'd followed a stranger who could kill him with a thought offworld and into some strange unknown that people underground only spoke about in whispers. _

The Sith. The rise of the Sith.

_The whispers said that the heroes of the Mandalorian wars came back from the Outer Rim changed by some terrible evil. It was rumored that they were massing an army against the Republic, a fleet to crush all the free worlds. A war was coming, denizens of the underground whispered. A war to end all wars._

_"Coruscant deserves to burn," said Mekel Jin, thinking about Moms and his cousins and the brothel and the marks and the tricks and pervs. And the few times he had been groundside. With no idchip he was nothing. Just another beggar in the alley where the rich went after meditations or temple to feel better about themselves. Cast off some rags or credits. "Burn it all away and make something new."_

_The tall man laughed his terrible laugh. "Exactly."_

_He'd been snug and safe in the Sith Academy for a week before he found out who his strange benefactor actually was. Master Jorak was most amused that Mekel had no idea that Darth Malak himself was sponsoring his education._

_Then Jorak went crazy..._

_XXX_

_No difference, no difference at all. They're stronger and there's nothing you can do but obey._

The falleen looked troubled. Back in the present now, Mekel felt something snap. Something inside. Dustil's presence, battering against his shields suddenly phased out like static on a bad holofeed. Replaced with nothing.

_Dust'?_

There was nothing where his friend's mind had been. Not death. Just...nothing.

_DUSTIL?_

_Like when Revan...when we thought she was dead. So maybe he's not. Maybe he's not..._

The falleen watched him silently. Behind her Thalia May crossed her arms and tapped her foot. Master Iridel reached out a hand to him, almost entreatingly. Her beautiful eyes were very sad.

"Perhaps we have failed you in the past Mekel Jin, but the Council can offer you sanctuary now. You and Dustil are in more danger than you know." Her eyes scanned his face. "You know what it's like to be caught in something larger than you are. It's happened to you before."

Red light and his lightsaber hummed between them.

"Put that thing down and just come with us, Mekk," Thalia sighed. "The Jedi won't hurt you, I promise."

His palms were sweating. His hands were shaking. Mekel threw the 'saber blindly at the beautiful golden face and leapt over the embankment, aiming for the ledge ten meters below.

His aim was true.

XXX

_Mission__ Vao_

The _Blue Ghost _landed on Coruscant without incident. Painted disc ships were popular now, and the _Ghost was_ only one in a line of them parked like bright coins along the public landing bay. She'd paid extra for a groundside docking only a kilometer from the Third District of Joy, where the _Golden Wheel of Fate_ loomed on the domed skyline like a great yellow sun.

They had a small amount of trouble with customs, which she'd half-expected.

"No unaccompanied droids," the port official said, frowning at the battered T3 in front of him. One of the wookiees had painted a blue flower on her side. In retrospect, perhaps that had been a bad idea. It really lacked dignity, even if it was cute.

Mission beeped at Rulan, who was blending into the background in a typical shadowy assassin manner. Completely inappropriate, all things considered. He still wore the slaver's collar. She hadn't removed it yet. Bargains were bargains, and he'd agreed to live up to the first part of his.

Dustil had gone off with D'Reev. She'd seen him clamber into the Senator's planetside cruiser like a drone set on auto. Idiot asshole _boy. _But part of her still hoped he'd meet her. She had to be sure that he wasn't going to make it before she went ahead with plan B. Mission was keeping a positive spin on everything. After all, she was still herself. And things could be worse.

She hadn't had the—well heart wasn't exactly the right word—maybe conscience—no—courage—to tell Polla-Revan about the latest developments. Things could still turn around. All the targets were still alive after all, wasn't like D'Reev would kill them. He needed Carth for Polla-Revan and he needed Dustil for Carth. She was pretty sure about that. In some ways, it was sort of like having all of your credits in one safe. All someone would have to do was pick the lock.

Worth a try anyways. It would be cool if she could deliver everything to Polla-Revan tied up with a nice tidy bow.

"The droid's with me," Rulan said softly, resolving himself into the image of a blue-skinned twi'lek. Female. The likeness wasn't bad. He had the pack she'd given him to carry slung lightly over one shoulder. "You'll find our documents are in order?"

"They seem to be, Citizen Wee. My apologies, I didn't see you before." The human grinned. "Say, has anyone ever told you look a lot like—"

Rulan rolled his—well her--eyes. "I get that all the time."

"If you're not doing anything later, I get off duty at four..."

Mission beeped indignantly.

_"_Frack off, you old geezer,"hissed Rulan. Mission would have smiled. The inflection was perfect.

She didn't have to beep of course, but it did seem more authentic. Most T3's weren't equipped with voders.

They strolled—or rather she rolled and the shapeshifter walked—out of the spaceport and into portside town. The Joy Districts lined it like a huge circle of sleaze.

Putting most of herself into the T3 clipped Mission's wings a little, at least locally, since she couldn't risk too much broadbeam transmission going planetside between Kashyyyk and the _Ghost_ and her T3 chassis. In space you can hide things easily. In grav it was a lot harder. Sort of the opposite of what you'd expect-- except a lot of space noise was only that—noise--and it was simple to hide things in the randomness. Here, every transmission had some kind of function. On the bright side, she could monitor local traffic really well. Just a risk, getting directly involved. Not a risk to her, of course: worst case scenario she'd scrap T3 and move back into her core on Kashyyyk—but a risk to the mission. Mission was counting on no one knowing about her. She really hoped Carth wouldn't spill the beans. She was betting on him not thinking of it.

He'd never really accepted her new self anyways. Carth just thought of her as a thing. On Kashyyyk when he'd come on the _Hawk _to look for Dustil and scan the nets for news about them she used to try and talk to him, like they used to talk. He always seemed so stressed she thought he might relax a little. When Mission was alive, she'd always been able to make him laugh.

But apparently, some computer calling him Pilot Flyboy just didn't work the same way.

If she had feelings, they'd be hurt.

The _Wheel_ was huge. On Taris it would have swallowed ten uppercity cantinas and still had room for a multi-story parking garage. The yellow arch of the rim stretched above them and the golden letters burned across the domed horizon. _The Golden Wheel of Fate._

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you," Rulan said formally, as they entered the glittering doorway. Liveried bouncers, plumed and tentacled, beckoned and smiled.

_Luck. Fortune. Chance. Spin the Wheel. _Sublim drones buzzed softly above their heads, and the whir of hidden cameras clicked.

"Deal was, you wait inside until the boy shows," Mission reminded the assassin.

"Of course." Rulan curled a lekku in agreement.

"No droids on the casino floor," a Durian in a spangled green suit chortled disapprovingly. The translator attached to its head spines chimed the words in toneless basic.

Stupid vegetables, at least _she_ didn't need repulsor fields just to move around. Treads worked just fine. Mission ran a scenario that involved a long and painful volcanic bioseeding of Duria in her head. Just for fun.

"We're not going to the casino floor," Rulan said smoothly, batting her lashes at the spiny thing. "We have a private room."

"Ah," the Durian chortled. It was hard to tell, but she thought it looked dubious. Maybe a fourteen year old Twi'lek and a battered T3 weren't the usual clientele for such things. "What is the name on the registry?"

"Handsome," snapped Mission, using her voder. Droid discrimination is what it was. Was it her fault she could measure odds better than most organics? It occurred to her that there was a reason HK-47 always seemed so bitter.

"Are you an actress?" The Durian's chortles sounded more respectful now.

Rulan blushed. Her lekku twisted modestly down. "Maybe," she admitted modestly.

"I thought so. Should I call you...Citizen Vao?"

Mission would have gritted her teeth. Perhaps having Rulan impersonate her wasn't the best idea.

Rulan shrugged. "If you want." She looked disdainful and impatient. The vegetable hurried them to a ferracrystal elevator, festooned with tiny lights.

"23rd floor, Suite 16, Citizen Vao," it told Rulan respectfully, completely ignoring Mission. Mission wasn't sure why she was surprised, but it was a little bit annoying, being dissed by a vegetable. They didn't even have legs. The elevator doors closed and took them away.

"They're lucky they build such good ships," Mission commented. "Or no other sentients would ever even talk to them. Someone should just make their entire planet a plain of smoldering glass."

Rulan considered her. "You seem changed," the shapeshifter observed.

_--My consciousness is a bit smaller here, -- _Mission admitted, using the subvocal on the collar. Maybe not the best tactical move, letting Rulan know she had limitations, but she didn't foresee a betrayal. The Genoharadan had been paid. She'd have to make some of that money back. Maybe with Dustil...after she explained things to him. She hoped he wouldn't take the news too badly. This was going to be a little rough.

If she had nerves they'd be frazzled.

Beams of light played over Rulan's face—her own face--at the door to suite 16. "Retinal scan accepted," the door chimed and slid open.

Sec was good, Mission had noticed the data-collecting scanners at the door, but most sents wouldn't. She hoped that wouldn't be an issue with Dustil, just one more thing she hadn't thought of. Then again, she hadn't expected him to draw any attention. He'd been hiding out perfectly well on this planet for months. Only now that she needed him to be hidden he'd painted a big target sign on his chest. Stupid _boy._

The room was lushly appointed with soft couches lining a circular gaming pit and vidscreens along all the walls. Mission scanned it for bugs and disabled them. Easy. She used the opportunity to tap one small stream into the security net. Just in case.

Rulan plopped down on one of the couches and put her feet up. "I need a drink," she said.

"Don't look at me," Mission snapped. "I'm not a serving droid."

"I wasn't." The Genoharadan raised a lekku. "You seem...impatient."

A serving droid glided smoothly across the plush carpet at the sound of Rulan's voice and offered her a selection. The shapeshifter accepted a green glass of something and sipped it, closing her eyes. "I was tired of wookiee rotgut. It's so nice to be in civilization again."

The serving droid beeped a question at Mission.

"I don't need any tune-ups, thanks," she answered it in Polla-Revan's you're- going-to-get-your-ass-kicked voice. The droid whirred and backed away. She'd better disable it, even if it was pretty mindless. Mission advanced on the server, beeping something noncommittal. It stopped and asked another question. She shot it with a cool ion ray from her chassis and all its lights dimmed and died.

Maybe it was the lack of all-around sensors that was bugging her. At the moment, Mission was limited to the array around the T3's dome, and the readout of the collar. They'd been modified beyond old T3's capacities, but they still seemed limited now. She missed the _Ghost. _It was too risky though, drawing anything that might link her to it.

"They'll charge you for that, and I wanted another drink," Rulan sighed.

"Shouldn't you be praying to your One or something?" Mission snapped. She said it subvocal at the same time and the shapeshifter winced.

"Don't mock what you cannot understand, ghost-child."

"I'm hardly a child," Mission said. _--I was old when your people were eating grass and trying to look like dangerous predators so the kraff wouldn't eat you.--_

"Part of you was," Rulan agreed, rubbing her neck. "But not your soul."

She would have kicked something.

"Supposition. If one believed in the existence of something like a soul, would it reside in my sentient core, or in my memories of being Mission Vao?" She used her own voice, but she made it drip ice.

"That's an interesting point to debate, actually." Rulan grinned. Cheekily, with her best Vao street urchin smile.

Well. As an intellectual exercise it would help pass the time until Sithboy showed up. If he ever would. The odds against it were seventy-eight point three to one.

She'd give him twenty-four hours and then move on to Plan B.

Plan B involved spending a lot more credits. Mission carried her side of the debate subvocal with the Genoharadan while she rolled her chassis over to one of the terms and placed some buy orders on the Coruscanti exchange. A new offering, I.E., Limited, was really taking off. She wasn't sure how some former swoop hack dumb as Nico Senvi was making credits spin out of the played-out Tatooine mines—probably some laundering going on there somewhere—but the opportunity for upside was too good to miss. She knew that. Tatooine, after all, was almost like family.


	14. Ghosts and Machines

**Chapter 14 / Ghosts and Machines**

_Revan_

_"Revan and Malak sitting in a tree._

_Kay aye ess ess aye enn gee..."_

Revan muttered the rest of words as fast as she could to HK, glancing warily at the door to the former dining room, now the men's quarters. The room had a door and she'd locked it. Canderous and Zaal would never barge in on her regardless; but she was less sure about Oerin Lin.

_The second verse to that song. I was embarrassed to sing it in front of Carth. And after that, I was afraid to know, but part of me always knew. I knew something._

"Password accepted," said a voice from the droid's speaker. She'd shut down HK's own systems. No need to have her droid's commentary. This would be hard enough to face as it was. The voice was almost familiar, filtered cold through a mask. _My voice.__ Darth Revan's voice._

_Why would I leave details of my life in the Rakatan computer on Kashyyyk?_

_For him.__ For Malachor. For my son._

"HK, show the files associated with this password."

_I was afraid to look before. I have no time for that fear now. I have to know. I have to know everything I can now. _

_I have to not make the same mistakes again._

Her dreams had been quiet, the last few days, as if the promise of a possible future chased away the past. Or perhaps it was the exercises Oerin had showed her, dimming the force presence within herself to a dull ember, wrapping it tightly in layers of control that were more mechanical than meditative. _Old techniques,_ he'd said. _Things my mother taught me._

Revan wondered about his mother. _Lin's mother was from Ossus._ She had no memory of the woman. But it was not a subject she could bring up with him. Something in Oerin's voice when he spoke of his mother was dangerous. _He may find it convenient that I had HK wipe out the rest of his clan...but his mother...is something else. Did I have her killed too? Does he hate me for that? _The Mandalorian's mind was completely opaque, although he was disturbingly enthusiastic about the next part of their mission.

_Which is not a surprise._

A beam of light from HK's central core resolved itself into an image: a forest clearing, and a woman dressed in knight's robes. Her younger self carried a double-bladed yellow saber. A blue sling was slung across her chest—and—Revan's breath caught--there was a baby on her back.

Malachor's red hair ringed his face in little curls. He was sleeping, head curled against his mother's neck. Revan stared at him, forgetting the rest of it for a moment. Older than he'd been in her dream of Malak and the refugee freighter—maybe almost a year old now. Big-boned and chubby, face sweet with baby dreams.

The sling's harness was clumsily embroidered with blue butterflies. Like the ones in her dream on Kashyyyk.

_A part of me always knew. Knew something, I just didn't know what it was._

Revan frowned. _Why would I bring my son to Kashyyyk? The Shadowlands are dangerous. Why would I put my son in danger? What the hell was I thinking?_

Malachor opened his eyes sleepily and tugged at her younger self's braid. She reached a hand back to soothe him, and approached something—_the console—_with a look of abstract fascination on her young round face.

There was a blinding flash of light that played over both figures for a moment, outlining them in ghostly white. The woman's face did not change, but Malachor screamed in fright. Her younger self disengaged the saber almost absently, clipping it to her belt, and slung her son into her arms, soothing him. It was all one movement, almost as if the child was an extension of her own body--an unruly appendage that needed to be quieted.

_"This is how it was, my son_." Darth Revan's dead voice spoke, sound overlaid on the image, the hiss of air expelled through a metal mask_. "After Malak and I returned with you from Eos and the Republic rejected our plea to aid the Outer Rim against the Mandalorian threat, your father left the order. I was given a mission. The Jedi told me I needed to learn about the effects of war—and so they sent me looking for one of the old war's last veterans."_

_"Although I have no evidence—yet_--" the voice was distant, but overlaid with old bitterness,_ "I suspect they sent me to Kashyyyk for more than an old hermit's redemption. I suspect they knew about the existence of this computer and what it could teach their perfect instrument. As always, I did their bidding, and came back with more than they bargained for." _

"Pattern recognition found," said a disembodied voice to her younger self.

"Pattern?" the woman asked, raising an eyebrow. Her hands stroked her son's back soothingly, shifting him onto her hip. "What are you?"

The computer did not answer.

"You speak Standard," the younger Revan frowned. Malachor had quieted again.

_This is part of the data I overwrote. The Mission-computer had no idea it existed and I was afraid to look. _Revan tried to understand this younger self. The woman didn't seem startled by the computer, or nonplussed by her surroundings. She was as contained as an egg, balancing her son on one hip, lightsaber dangling from the other.

"Neural recognition is complete, Revan Starfire. I will answer as my programming permits."

"You know my name?" A faint look of surprise crossed the young face. Light from the console played across her features in a mix of shifting shadows, filtered green through the trees above.

"This utility retains local access to what your civilization calls the net. I am well-informed of the current political, economic, and military climate of your Republic."

"Who created you? And for what purpose?"

"This utility was built to monitor planet-wide agricultural reformation. It has since malfunctioned. It can be theorized that the super-growth of Kashyyyk's forests is a direct result. Malfunction occurred 241 years after last builder communication. Last Builder communication transmitted 29,635 years before current the Republic standard."

"Builder?"

"Error. Information regarding the Builders of this installation has been corrupted No evidence of such a civilization exists in the galactic record."

"Almost thirty thousand years..." the young Revan sounded awed. "The galactic record doesn't go back that far..."

"Clarification. Like all sentient intelligences designed by the builders, this installation has multiple functions. In your vernacular, I am flexible."

Malachor began to fidget. Frowning distractedly, her younger self set him down against the base of a black metal structure. Revan recognized it with a chill. _The Kashyyyk Star Map. Couldn't I tell? How could I be so careless? _Her heart was in her throat, looking at her son's innocent face—_Malak's mouth, my nose, Malak's eyes—_against that ancient artifact of dark side power. The holo image seemed undisturbed.

"You're sentient?"

"By your definition of the term, yes."

Her son was playing with stalks of grass. He put one in his mouth. Younger Revan turned and looked at him and Malachor put it down again, obediently. She pulled a toy out of her bag and tossed it in the air. It floated into his chubby hands. A stuffed brown wookiee doll. Malachor squealed with glee and clapped it against his hand. A faint smile crossed her younger face, and she turned back to the computer.

"I sense a great power in this place," the younger Revan mused.

"Clarification. For one such as yourself I can offer you great power."

"One such as myself--what do you mean?"

"Neural scans show that you possess a rare ability among the sentients of this time. The last recorded instance of this ability in my memory banks is one thousand years ago."

The younger Revan grimaced. "My _gift."_She made the word sound like a curse. "I have no wish for great power, computer. I only want answers. Who created you? What kind of civilization were these 'builders'?"

"I cannot say. That information is restricted at this time."

"At this time?"

"Further analysis would be needed to indicate if you are worthy of my creator's legacy."

"Worthy?" Her eyebrow arched, as if that was a challenge.

Malachor giggled and ran his hand along the base of the Star Forge. Watching the holo, Revan shivered at her old self's carelessness. "Pause," she whispered. The image froze: her son playing at the base of the Kashyyyk Star Map; her younger self standing there, arms crossed and chin lifted. Revan closed her eyes.

XXX

_"Do you feel it Bastila? We're close now, very close."_

_"I feel it." The Jedi gritted her teeth, waves of desperate calm emanating from her like a furnace._

_It felt like a song to Polla, like another chord in the music that began singing to her on Dantooine. Half-familiar, like a dream. _

_It felt like destiny. But through the bond with Bastila it felt entirely different. If felt like a great darkness, like the black coldness of space. It felt old and alien and terribly wrong. Twisted and cold, like old death, and bitter ghosts._

_Polla shrugged off Bastila's fears and considered their old guide. He wrinkled his eyebrows back at her, strolling along as unconcerned as if this was all a holiday walk through a nature preserve. She wondered again why he'd agreed to help them._

_"You remind me of Nomi Sunrider," Jolee Bindo said casually. "She was a great Jedi, and she came late to the force too."_

_Bastila coughed._

_"Nomi Sunrider?" Polla shrugged. "There was some kid's show on sevenday morning vids about her when I was little. I don't look anything like her."_

_"I didn't mean looks, kid. Nomi had a great destiny. Without her assistance, we'd never have won the war. And she overcame great obstacles." The old man sighed. "Sadly, her personal life was no bed of ullia moss; but whose is, after all?"_

_"Which war would that be, exactly?" Polla frowned. Republic history wasn't something she'd paid much attention to. They always had some kind of war going on, somewhere; but some of them seemed to be more major than others. It meant little on Deralia, although now here she was, off on a quest to save the Republic's proverbial butt. Actually, a part of her was really amazed. She'd always wanted to have an important destiny—and here she was in the thick of one._

_The underbrush crackled around them, and the Star Map sang to her somewhere ahead of them through the trees._

Silly Bastila, why is she so afraid of this? _Bastila's fear and her own anticipation mingled like strange sparks. Everything seemed hyper-real, but that was an increasingly familiar feeling. Something about the force, probably. Maybe she should have paid more attentions to those lessons on Dantooine._

_Jolee sighed. "The war against Exar Kun, kid. _The _Sith__ War. Yeah, I know...seems like there's always another one right around the bend, but humor an old man, will you?"_

_"Mmm...," Polla replied noncommittally. Deralians had sided with the Sith in that war; the only war their planet had chosen a side in for over four centuries. Her father tended to go on and on about it, when he got very drunk. Of course choosing a side for Deralia meant little more than sending their eridu shipments to Ziost instead of Coruscant and Corellia. _

_"Nomi Sunrider possessed my gift," Bastila Shan said. "Battle meditation." She spoke the words with modest pride. "I try and live up to her memory. She is a shining example for Jedi everywhere, of how one woman can make a difference in the fight against the dark side."_

_"Your gift seems a little unpredictable and vulnerable to your own weakness," Polla observed bluntly. "I mean it didn't really help us out on the _Endar Spire _did it? If I_ was _in charge of battle tactics I'd never use it."_

_Bastila flinched as if she'd been slapped. She was as pale as a sheet. "I don't imagine you know much about these things, Padawan," she said._

_"I know some things are an unfair advantage," Polla snapped back. At this point bickering with Bastila was pretty much a sport. She wasn't sure why she'd said that particular thing, but the desired effect was reached. Jedi Knight Bastila Shan looked like she'd been sucker punched. Polla almost felt bad, it was so easy to rile her up._

_"I'm sorry, Bastila."_

_The dark-haired woman just looked at her and sighed. "It's not your fault. But I wish you'd..." Words seemed to fail her, and her smile was pained._

_"You remind me of my cousin Sara. We'd fight a lot, but we always stuck up for each other anyways..." Polla tried to explain._

_Bastila flushed. "Jedi do not bicker, Polla. We can't afford to. Discord and strife lead to..."_

_"There you go again..." Polla Organa rolled her eyes. "Jedi blah dee blah...can you feel it? We're so close now..."_

_"Yes." _

_Jolee just watched them. "Give the kid a break, Bastila."_

_The Jedi gritted her teeth. Through their bond, Polla could feel them sliding back and forth against each other, like the sharp sound of pain._

_XXX_

The hologram flickered, and Revan shivered. Even her true memories seemed like traps. _That's what I said to Bastila, in the vision she showed me on Coruscant. Almost those same words. No wonder she was so upset. _

_I'm sorry, Bastila. I'm sorry, Jolee. _She swallowed the lump in her throat. Their ghosts—or her own dreams—did not answer her.

"Resume," Revan whispered.

The hologram flickered and the figures moved again. Small things. The wind rippled Malachor's curls, and the woman's robes. Her son yawned sleepily and patted his toy with a tiny fist.

"To understand what I am, you must first understand your own talent. A thousand years ago, sentients of your race and the neighboring ones, enjoyed what your histories call a Golden Age. Individuals like yourself maintained order, and ruled in an era of expansion and prosperity."

"A thousand years ago...." the younger Revan's eyes narrowed. "Golden Age? Golden Age of the _Sith_." She made a face. "I've read the histories. My father-in-law collects such things, and the Jedi Library is quite extensive...did the Sith made use of you? Good for them." Her voice was stony. "I am no Sith, I am a Jedi Knight."

"Distinctions between what you call the dark and the light side of the force are meaningless to one such as yourself."

"_Did_ the Sith use you for some purpose? What was it?"

"I—cannot say. No further information is available at this time."

"Until I prove myself?" Revan shifted restlessly. Malachor mirrored his mother's mood, face wrinkling in a petulant frown. His chubby fingers pulled at his toy's fur. "Whatever you are, computer, you're not _my_ mission. I'll the Council that you exist. If you want to help me, tell me where I can find the former Padawan Jolee Bindo. He's an old man rumored to be in these parts of the Shadowlands...the wookiees consider him some kind of minor forest deity."

"His camp is approximately three kilometers southwest of here. One such as yourself should have no trouble locating him through the bond with what you call the force."

"So you'd think," Revan muttered. "But I swear the old bastard is hiding from me somehow."

She walked over to the closed black petals of the Star Forge map and picked up her son, slipping him back into the sling, and the sling back over her shoulder. Without a backward glance she began to walk to away. A hiss as her lightsaber activated again. Her stance was easy and alert, on the watch for roaming predators. Malachor squealed and clapped his hands with excitement.

_I brought my son into the Lower Shadowlands as if it were some kind of stroll through a city park!_

"I saw the broadcast of you from Eos," the computer said to her retreating back.

The younger Revan paused, but did not look back. "Your reach is impressive."

"Your assessment of the Mandalorians is correct. They pose a great threat to the stability of your Republic."

Her shoulders tightened and Malachor fidgeted, turning back to look at the computer, his mouth wide open in surprise. Almost as if--_is he mirroring my moods? Were we linked that closely? What was I thinking, bringing a child to a place like that? How could I be so stupid?_

The answer came to her like a whisper, dead Malak's laughter. _Stupid, Red?__ No. Arrogant. You always thought you could control everything. You always thought you could protect everyone. It's a shame you weren't better at it._

Her younger voice was subdued. "I know that. Everyone knows that. And we Jedi are the only ones that can help. But they _won't." _

"With your gift, they could."

Her head turned, eyebrows lifted, and stared back at the computer. Something like hope in her expression. Malachor's mouth was open wide in astonishment.

"Sith'aerah," she said finally. Watching the holo, Revan felt a sad sense of recognition at the word. _My gift._"A lack of the inherent empathy that most force users take for granted. Long ago sith'aerah was projected like battle meditation. With it, force users could fight wars on a grand scale--without sliding into madness. But that knowledge is lost."

Her voice was remote. "I'm a failure. I tried...on Eos...to shield Malak from the death around us. Instead, all I felt was every life ending in _his_ mind. We...killed Mandalorians there. They winked out screaming. I'm no Sith'aerah. Maybe the Council thought I was, but I'm not."

"To be Sith'aerah you must be the Master," the computer said. "This bond you speak of cannot be a bond between equals or lovers. To channel your gift, you must stand above the others. You must rule them."

"Rule them," the younger Revan scoffed. Malachor tugged at her braid. Her laughter rang in the quiet grove, a musical laugh that Revan did not recognize as her own. "I don't want to rule anyone."

"When the Mandalore takes your worlds, will you be content? Knowing all that you do, knowing that you could have saved them?"

Her expression was contained, but her eyes looked very dark. "What _are _you How do you know about me?"

"As previously stated. You are the first subject in one thousand standard years to meet my parameters. I merely extrapolated the data. Your ship's logs are expansive."

"You hacked into my ship's logs?" Her composure cracked. "How dare you!"

"Your Jedi Masters instructed you to come to Kashyyyk alone, on public transport. Instead you purchased an Endarian flyer, capable of groundside landings in heavy forest conditions. Your piloting skills are negligible. Without the force you would have crashed on the landing. You risked your own life, and the life of your son. You disobeyed the orders of your superiors. Why?"

"Malachor goes where I do," the young Revan said haughtily. "It was no risk." She reached around her back and touched her son's arm. "I'd never let anything happen to him. He's mine. He goes where I do," she repeated stubbornly.

"Perhaps no risk, for one as gifted as you. But why waste your gifts when they could save your people?"

"One Jedi cannot save an entire people!" But her eyes looked unconvinced.

_You stupid girl, _Revan thought sadly—even as part of her whispered. _You did save them, you saved them all._

_And then you slaughtered millions._

"HK, end transmission." She didn't want to watch this anymore.

_And so it began. On Kashyyyk with that Rakatan computer. That Rakatan computer that I gave Mission's memories._

_I purged it first! I overwrote all files that were harmful to sentient life!_

_You always were too sure of yourself, Red. I used to think it was cute. But then again, I was arrogant too._

Was that the echo of Malak's voice in her mind, or his ghost? She pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes and breathed, reaching for stillness.

_Nine days now, nine days now until the end. _

_Or the beginning._

_Force, I don't feel arrogant now._

XXX

_Mekel Jin_

One of the bouncers stopped him at the door.

"There's a dress code," the sentient said, wrinkling its feathered snout.

_"I'm dressed fine," _Mekel snapped, pushing as hard as he could. He wasn't very good at this, not like Dustil—_he can't be dead--_but he wasn't trying to be subtle either, and the undertone of desperation pushed his words just as much as the force.

The bouncer stared at him. "You're dressed fine," it admitted grudgingly.

"I'm here on business," Mekel continued. "Private room. Name is Handsome."

"See the Durian, citizen." The bouncer pointed, and Mekel moved fast, to get away before the vagueness in the sent's eyes wore off.

The spiky thing—he had a hard time thinking of them as sentients, even though Duria was as core as Corellia or Aldaraan or Coruscant itself—showed him to the elevator.

As he walked to the door of suite 16, Mekel pushed back his hair and tried to brush some of the filth off his clothes. He'd landed on a refuse pile, lost his 'saber, and he was pretty sure he'd seriously injured that falleen master. Wonderful. The Jedi would be after him now, and this time they'd be less inclined to just use kind words.

"Retinal scan accepted."

"Fracking hell." _Great, just great—and they scanned my ident at the door. Probably recorded that whole thing with the bouncer too...only a matter of time before the corusecs are all over my ass. Mission better have some kind of plan._

The doors slid open, and the blue-skinned twi'lek on the couch lifted her head.

Next to her, a battered droid unit---one of those T3's that were so popular now—okay, considering everything this was probably _the _T3 that started the trend--slid forward. The doors slid closed and he heard the click of the lock.

"Mission?"

"Dustil?" The twi'lek said. "Finally, you're here!!" She got up from the couch and looked at him, the smile on her face fading slightly to a puzzled frown, as if she wasn't quite sure if he was Dustil or not. Inexplicably, she shrugged at the droid. "He looked taller in the vid."

Mekel backed up against the door. The droid beeped some kind of response that sounded like a negative. Looked like it was armed. Some kind of stun ray attached to one side of its chassis and two small blasters in its appendages.

_Great this is a trap. And they think I'm Dustil._

"Don't come any closer," Mekel hissed. He let the anger feed him, fuel the force like a red haze of light. It was hard to keep focused. His hands were shaking.

"Don't be dumb, Mekel," the T3 said. "You always were a prick. Where's Dustil?"

He ignored the T3, and kept his eyes on the twi'lek. Easy to disable the droid—that was one skill he'd always been good at. Its master might be another story—although she seemed to be unarmed.

The twi'lek that looked like Mission bowed to the droid, a strangely formal gesture.

_Bowed to the droid? What the--_

"I assume this concludes our contract," she said. "If you don't mind, I need to be on my way."

"You can go, Rulan. I've got things under control. No prob," the T3 said. Mekel's hackles rose. The droid sounded more like Mission than the twi'lek imposter.

"The collar?"

"Yep." A ray of light beamed out from the T3's chassis and over the twi'lek's neck, which seemed to be—elongating somehow. There was a snick and a narrow metal collar dropped to the ground.

"It's been a pleasure. Think about what I have said, ghost-child." The twi'lek's voice was deeper now, and older. Its skin shifted to brown and Mission's features blurred and changed until it wasn't Mission at all but an ordinary-looking spacer. Echani, maybe. Humanid—and male.

"Shapeshifter..." Mekel whispered.

"The boy shows some acuity. I wish you luck. I regret that I cannot be of more assistance, but it has been an honor, meeting one such as you. And a pleasure doing business. The brothers of Widek will add your names to the prayer-scrolls."

Without a backward glance, the creature walked past Mekel and to the doors. They opened and closed behind it.

"I didn't think _you'd_ show up," the T3 said. It almost seemed to sigh. "Another miscalculation. This has been kind of a crappy day."

"You're the T3 from the _Ebon Hawk? _Where's the real Mission Vao? Where are the others?" Mekel dulled the force down, but didn't relax his stance. Inside he was shaking with exhaustion. He'd run down another ten levels before dodging back onto the tube. Slept on it for a few hours, seemed safer than keeping still, with the Jedi after him. His leg hurt, he'd bruised it pretty badly in his fall. And he was filthy and hungry and so tired.

"Tell me where Dustil is," the droid said. Mekel shivered. The voice sounded like Revan's.

"I can't feel him...I'm not sure. He was with D'Reev."

"Yeah, I know that. He probably still is. You can feel him? With the force?" The droid whirred to itself for a while. Mekel stood there, exhaustion changing to impatience.

"Where's the real Mission Vao?" he asked again.

The T3 beeped. "Dead," it said flatly. "Guess there's no easy way to say that."

Mekel nodded. After everything..._nothing is ever simple. Dustil's going to flip. _"You lied to Dustil—it was you, wasn't it--on the term in The Library?"

"I didn't lie!" The T3 sounded indignant, although Mekel wasn't really sure how it could. The only other droid he'd ever seen who could express any kind of emotion was Revan's HK-47... His spine prickled at that memory.

"You said Mission wasn't dead."

"I said _Revan_ didn't kill me. This is true."

"Because you're not Mission Vao. What _are_ you?"

"Revan didn't kill Mission Vao." The T3 paused. "Technically."

In the vids the T3 was just a droid the heroes acquired on Taris. Mekel had no idea what the truth was. The T3 in front of him almost seemed to have some kind of force...aura. But droids didn't, not even the HK. And the T3's aura was...dark.

"I think of myself as Mission." Its voice sounded almost—subdued.

Someone had painted a blue flower on its chassis.

Mekel frowned.

"I am more than your organic mind can comprehend, Mekel Jin," it intoned ominously. "I am the ghost in the machine."

"You stupid nerf-herding wannabe sith," it added as an afterthought.

Mekel crossed his arms and just stood there. The teachers did that sometimes, back at the Academy, waiting for their pupils to say more than they meant to. But the droid said nothing. Lights flashed on its console, as if it were thinking. Processing something. It beeped.

"You're worried about Dustil. He's probably fine. Senator D'Reev uses ysalamiri, raises em in a network of tunnels in the walls of his compound. A lot of the Senators do that. Blocks force intrusion into their affairs pretty well. He's got a few areas that don't seem to have any though...maybe Dustil will wander into one of them. Or do something really dumb and try the nets again. That would be bad, completely blow our security...I'd have to disable the net drop or get traced..."

_Dustil is going to get really upset when he hears Mission's dead._

"Who killed her?"

"Who killed _me_?" The droid's voder squeaked. "Zaalbar. Polla-Revan...was all ...Dark Lord and...well, she made him do it. That's what they told me, anyways. My version of Mission is from an earlier save point. A holocron. Hey, you remember—weren't you looking for that holocron too, back on Korriban? Everyone was...Polla-Revan forgot to turn it in, we killed Lashowe for it...well, Polla-Revan did anyways...I was really worried about her, she got all wigged on Korriban. It was sort of scary..." the droid's voice trailed off.

The lights on its dome flashed red and blue.

"Then again, you were kind of scary then too. You've changed, Mekel Jin. Not looking so sith wannabe now. I think you need a sonic. There's a 'fresher off this central room. Perhaps you should use it. You look like bantha poo."

"You're one to talk." Mekel frowned. "You expect me to believe you're Mission Vao in the body of a droid."

"I am far more than that," it said. "Rulan and I were just discussing it, actually. He raised some interesting philosophical points. Tell me, Mekel Jin, do you think there's such a thing as a soul?"

"I don't fracking care."

The T3 was uncannily like Mission Vao. Just as irritating.

XXX

_It was easy to make to her trip. Just a little force push and the twi'lek's feet slid out from under her._

_"Let me help you up," Mekel said, extending a hand. _

_She refused it, scrambling to her feet herself. Blue eyes flashed indignantly._

_"Don't think I don't know what you just did, you sith poser. You're not the first force user to make me trip by 'accident.' Blast off, I'm busy."_

_"Running errands for your master? I just saw you come out of Uthar's room."_

_She looked kind of cute when she was angry. Actually her vehemence surprised him. Slaves didn't usually show this much spunk. Maybe she hadn't been a slave long._

_Her spirit would be fun to break._

_"Does Polla let you talk like this to her?" Mekel raised an eyebrow and scratched his chin in mock thought. "If I tell Uthar you were in his room, he'll punish your master. But he'll do _far_ more than just punish _you_. What will you give me to keep me quiet?"_

_"One."__ Mission Vao said._

_"One what?"_

_"Two." She'd reached into her vest and pulled out something round and shining. She was casually tossing it in her hands. Her head tails curled, and there was a faint smile on her face. "Do you know what this is, Mekel?"_

_It looked like a grenade._

_She didn't wait for his response. Her blue fingers pressed a button at her belt, and a field shimmered around her, crackling white. _

_"This is a thermal detonator. I'm wearing an energy shield-a damn good one--and I move pretty fast. You're not wearing one. You could freeze me, but I might just drop it. Maybe your force powers can shield you from the worst of the blast, maybe not. But I laid some adhesive mines along this hallway. And plasma. Surprised you didn't trip em already. If you were running fast...like, to get away from the blast..." she grinned cheekily. Anyways, I have more grenades. I have lots. Get out of here before I finish counting. To thr--"_

_Mekel backed off, way off.__ Down the hallway and back to his rooms off. You don't survive very long at the Sith Academy if you don't realize that sometimes retreat is the best option._

XXX

"Did you really set mines along the hallway?"

The T3 beeped and whirred. It almost sounded like it was laughing. "That time on Korriban? No. But I sure scared you, didn't I?"

"Yeah," he admitted.

"You scared me too. Face-off against a crazed murdering sith thug...I just kept thinking, what would Polla-Revan do?"

Mekel's mouth twisted in a smile. "I wasn't a crazed murdering sith thug!"

"Yeah, right—tell that to those kids you made starve to death outside the Academy gates...or the prisoners in the dueling room..."

He dodged the bait. "Aren't you here helping the Dark Lord of the Sith or something?"

The T3—_Mission—_whirred. "I can't really see Polla-Revan taking up _that _mantle again—although strategically it has possibilities--but—yes. And I need your help, Mekel."

"You're going to get Dustil out of this mess?" Mekel frowned. "Is Dar--is Revan coming here for Carth Onasi? Or for the Jedi Council? Or is there...someone else she wants?"

"You know about the kid, don't you? Figures you would. You were with Dustil at The Library...look, don't tell anyone that you know. Whatever happens. For your own sake...your life's a lot more secure that way."

"I'm not feeling very secure at the moment," Mekel said. It was weird—he realized how much he'd been depending on Dustil. The bond between them--now that it was severed--left him feeling strangely vulnerable and alone. If such a thing was possible, he was actually happy to be talking to this droid version of Mission Vao. And he hadn't liked the real Mission much at all.

"Go take a sonic, ok? My olfactory capacity on this unit is a little limited, but I suspect you reek. And do you need food or something? Perhaps I've been rude; not offering you any refreshments...there's a fridger over there by the cabinet. Get yourself together. We have a little time."

As it turned out, they had less than it—than _she--_predicted.

Mekel was pulling his clothes back on when the door to fresher opened and the T3—_Mission--_barged in.

"Do you mind?" he said angrily, flushing as he hastily zipped up his coverall.

"Nice muscles," Mission commented. A green light flashed on her dome. "Sec alert just came in, wideband. The Jedi Council's orders. They want you. Alive, of course—bunch of old softies—but they want you bad. You injured some Master—that was dumb of you, Mekel. We've got to get out of here..." A metal appendage extended from her chassis and handed him a cheap polymer pack. "Stuff in there for you. And I made you a sandwich, its outside. And there's one other thing that I need you to do."

Her other appendage extended holding a narrow metal collar. Slaver's collar, one of the expensive small ones. _The one the shapeshifter was wearing._ "Put this on."

"You want me to pose as a slave?"

"No. It's got some special hardware on it. My own design. Surveillance and a subvocal. We can talk easier that way. And if we have to split up, I'll still be with you."

Mekel was rummaging through the pack. Grenades, a few blasters, even some kolto packs. His hands closed around a narrow metal cylinder. It fit into his hand as if it belonged there. He clipped it to his belt, pulling his battered jacket over the bulge.

"That's one of Bastila Shan's old ones," Mission commented casually. "Kind of ironic, you picking it. There are others in there too, you know. I think Darth Bandon's even. The big wuss."

_Bandon was an asshole. _The familiar twinge of jealousy was automatic.

"This one feels right."

"Put on the collar." Her lights flashed. "Please."

Mekel looked at it dubiously.

"We don't have much time."

_The shapeshifter seemed eager to get it off._

The slaver's collars he'd seen in Mom's brothel could make the tricks do anything and not care. Tap into the central nervous system and make it respond however. He'd heard of collars with detonation packs...make disobedient or runaway slaves just blow up.

Mission's voice through the T3 voder sounded like she was talking to a very stupid child. "Look. If you don't put it on, I can't talk to you, I can't help you and the Jedi will have your butt in a cell faster than you can say Sleheyron. You can't walk out of here through the front door, you nerf pod. You've gotta go through an access panel, and I can't follow you in T3."

"I can get out of here myself, thanks," Mekel said. "Maybe meet you somewhere?" He frowned. "Are the Jedi really after me?" A sinking pit in his stomach answered that before she could. Something brushed at the edge of his mind. It felt like Thalia May. Mekel made himself very small.

"There's a medical report on a fallleen named Master Iridel. You want to see it? I can run the transcript—prob just enough time before guards break down that door..." It was amazing how she managed to sound so angry and impatient through a voder.

_I have to trust her, not like I have a ton of other options. Or any other options._

Reluctantly Mekel snapped the collar around his neck. He put on his jacket and pulled up the collar to cover it. The metal was cold against his neck; but it didn't feel like anything else. Inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief. Something crinkled in his jacket pocket. The print-outs from The Library. Dustil's letters. He'd almost forgotten about them.

_--Cool. Now let's get out of here. Move. Move fast. I'm can bring the sec grid down on this complex if I have to...but I'd really rather not. Kind of dramatic. There's an access panel to the ventilation ducts at the end of the hall. It's unlocked. Ladder—I think there's a ladder—to the subbasement level. From there, take the sewers to the tube... I'll move the T3 out the front door, and meet you on level 24. There's some people there we have to convince. You'll have to convince. I hope you're good at that. I'll tell you what to say.--_

"Convince of what?" The collar vibrated slightly against his neck when she spoke, sending the words right up his spine. It felt strange, but it wasn't intrusive. Part of him relaxed a little.

_After all, she's Dustil's friend. She wants to help him._

_--I'll tell you on the way, ok? Move. Now.--_

Mekel moved, shoving the sandwich in his mouth as he ran. The pack flapped awkwardly on his back. It was heavy. The sandwich wasn't very good.

There was a ladder. As he climbed down twenty-odd stories to the subbasement, he wondered what he'd have done if there wasn't.

_--By the way...--_ Even subvocal she sounded like Mission Vao. Her voice was casual. --_...do you speak Mandalorian?--_

_Not really._

He thought the words, automatically, as if he was talking to Dustil. The collar around his neck was silent. His feet slipped a little on the slimy rungs. Obviously this wasn't a very well-maintained ventilation shaft.

_--Do you speak Mandalorian? You have to talk. I don't have subvoders running two-way. That would be complicated. I'd have to put a chip in you or something. No time now.--_

"Not really," Mekel whispered. "A few words. Why?"

An alarm was going off somewhere. The sound echoed through the shaft, His fingers were sweaty and he looked down. Almost there now.

Mekel risked a jump the rest of the way down. His bruised leg protested, but he landed easily, pulling at the force a little to cushion his fall.

_--You'll have to just repeat what I say. You'd better start memorizing it now. Make sure and get the inflections right. It's all in the tone. When we get to the sewers I want you to say it out loud so I can hear. Whatever you do, don't sound scared, ok? Or whiny. Sometimes your voice gets a little shrill...—_

"I do _not_ sound shrill," Mekel muttered.

_-- Rysya mandalore phar ech na' Republik infi. Kar'rak occano opilim. Na'calli mandalore fett lin, qui ana instaka acheem. Nahir embassie ee yalla mandalore. Dirin ech'na jang...--_

"_What_ was that about the Mandalore's feet?"

_--Keep moving. Corusec patrol's coming down here. Sewer entrance is on your left, about 10 meters. You might have to cut through the lock.--_

"I can pick it."

_--Cool.—_

Mekel's body shifted into automatic, moving silently across the echoing subbasement to the sewer entrance. The lock was easy, he had it open before he even got there. Adrenalin kept him going, kept him moving forward, and he focused his mind on remembering the words. He'd get her to explain them. After all, he could just refuse to do anything unless she did.

After all, what could she really do to him?

The slaver's collar thrummed against his neck.

_-- Rysya Mandalore phar ech na' Republik infi...--_

XXX

A/N Apologies for going all Clint there for a moment. Thanks as always...

Tim Radley: Light at the end of tunnels is often incoming trains...but I do think this series of chapters might be a little more upbeat. Sorta. Although sometimes I wonder about my definitions of upbeat. Uptempo?

Lunatic Pandora1 That's true...hm....

ether-fanfic Thank you thank you thank you!!!! You rock. Agree totally about Mekel and Mission, hope the addition helps qualify...

snackfiend101 ) Here is, put jaw back on!! No word yet on Martin, grrr...

Prisoner 24601 Mekel's the practical one...sort of. Hope you enjoy this Mekel, he was really fun to write. Some day, Darth Cher and Canderous' past...

Firera Updating! Durians! WHee!

Mucho gratitude again to ether for betaing this (as one sprawling chapter no less) and to Prisoner and xenzen athenaprime and snarky for giving me some great inspiration in IRC.


	15. Countdown to Coruscant, Part 1

**Chapter 15 / Countdown to Coruscant, Part 1**

**XXX**

**_9 days to Coruscant_**

XXX

_Korrie D'Reev_

Korrie watched the door to the guest suite close behind the two Onasis and click shut with a familiar snick. _Locked. _His hand brushed against the little lump in his pocket, squeezing it for comfort. Grandfather was furious, that really cold furious that would begin with quiet words and would end with Korrie being sent to his room. He wished they could skip ahead to that part, because that part wasn't so bad. He followed the old man downstairs to his study. Grandfather sat down behind his desk and folded his hands into a triangle. His furry brows lowered and he glared at Korrie.

"You disobeyed me. Malachor, you must never disobey me."

"I'm sorry." Korrie stared at the floor, trying to look at the patterns in the tile instead of Grandfather's face. They were Zabrak tribal designs, like the ones they studied in xenosoc. His face shone back up at him in the white marble space between. Round and white and scared.

"I had my reasons for not showing you those newsvids. Now that you've seen them, what would you do if I told you they were true?"

Korrie would not cry. Babies cry. He was not a baby, not anymore. And it wasn't true.

"My mother is not—"

"Your mother is Sith. Like your father. Both of them. Traitors to the Republic." Grandfather used that cruel voice, the one that you couldn't argue with. Korrie argued anyways.

"She's _not Sith!"_

The Sith were evil and bad and they did terrible things. In history class Teacher Browen said that the Sith War nearly destroyed the Republic. Grandfather said that every empire needed an adversary, or else it would...stagmite--no—stagnate—but Korrie wasn't gonna say that out loud in class. It was bad enough that every time they studied any of the Sith Wars (there were at least three so far, and they still had another term to go) Feid'Qel Ria would kick him under the desk and make faces.

_You're father's not so badass now, Dreevie. The Republic blew him up_

They were calling it the Jedi Sivil War now, the one that Father and Mother started. Teacher Browen said that was the wrong name, because Father and Mother were Sith, not Jedi—until Mother was saved by the Jedi. That was when she killed Father and became a hero...

Korriekept his hand in his pocket for reassurance. Grandfather glared at him, more scary than any dumb Sith Lord. The old man's face bent in that frown he used when Korrie did something really bad. And he was calling him _Malachor_. Grandfather only did that when he was really mad. When Korrie's friend Arria was bad, her parents spanked her, but Grandfather never needed to do anything like that. All he had to do was use that voice. Korrie closed his eyes and counted to ten, soon this would be over and he could go to his room. If Captain Onasi was supposed to rescue him, why did the man look so scared?

"She's not Sith! You know she's not..." Grandfather knew everything. Someday when he was older, Korrie would know everything too.

"How do you know that, Malachor?" Grandfather said, softly.

The soft voice was even worse, because it sounded kind, only it never was. One time, Grandfather used the soft voice and Korrie had told him about Father. Korrie shivered. _That _had been a mistake. He'd had to lie and lie and burst into tears to get out of it.

"She's my _mother."_

"She left you," Grandfather said.

"S-she promised she'd come back!" Korrie bit his lip and scrunched his eyes up. She had promised, everyone said he couldn't remember, but he did remember, he did. _Don't cry, only babies cry. _

_She is coming back, she is. He told me she would. If I cry, he'll send me to my room faster..._

That would be a good thing. Frowning, Korrie let the tears fall. Grandfather had that disgusted look now, like Korrie was a big disappointment. Somehow, that made him cry even more.

"You were too young to remember what she said—or didn't say." Grandfather sighed and went back to his desk again. "Go to your room." His face had that distracted look, as if he was already thinking about something else.

Korrie ran the whole way,holding the lump in his pocket. It would keep him safe.

_XXX_

_Carth Onasi_

The rooms were white, white on white. He'd pleaded exhaustion at the Senator's offers of brandy and quiet conversation and the old man had nodded understandingly and escorted them to their suite himself. Carth sat down on a couch covered in priceless downy eridu silk and sighed at his son. Dustil was sitting awkwardly in the matching chair, still looking as if he'd been hit with a stunner. He'd looked like that since they walked into the compound.

"I can't feel the Force," his son whispered. "Father, this is wrong, something's really wrong here, can't you feel it?"

"Senator D'Reev explained to you, about the Force barriers here, son..." Carth began, his voice trailing off awkwardly as he looked at Dustil again. Dustil shook his head angrily, face folding into a scowl.

_Something wrong?__ Something on your mind?_

"Something's wrong with _you,_ Father. It's not just the Force being gone now, something's..." his voice trailed off into a whisper. "When I first saw you in The Library--people have auras, I can see them sometimes with the Force and yours was _wrong_. What happened to you?"

Carth made his hands unclench and leaned forward. A tray of caffa and small sandwiches sat between them on a low stone table. He poured them each a glass, trying to keep his hands from shaking.

_What happened to me? _Revan_ happened to me. _But he couldn't say that, not to Dustil, not now.

"It's over," he said flatly. "I don't...I don't want to dwell on the past, Dustil."

His hand was trembling, despite his efforts. Some caffa spilled on the soft carpet. Brown against the white, like old blood. Carth grabbed a napkin from the tray and bent down to wipe it up. The napkin was eridu too, thick and soft. _Only the best._

_The human proprietor looked at them disdainfully. _

"_We serve a very _exclusive_ clientele here," she said haughtily. "Perhaps you might be more comfortable shopping in the lower city?"_

_Polla laughed, and fingered the blue fabric of the dress disdainful fully.__"Off-season harvest," she drawled. "See? The threads are uneven. Machine woven. Dregs." She raised an eyebrow and her topknot flopped to one side. "Don't try and cheat a Deralian, Citizen..." Her mouth curled into a smirk. "I'll give you fifty credits for it."_

_The woman sputtered in outrage. "The price is five hundred credits. I think you should leave now, before I call security."_

"_We don't want any trouble," Carth began, grabbing Polla's arm. The damn smuggler was going to get them arrested or worse. She shook him off, widening her green eyes in a protestation of innocence. _

"_I'm going to a party," she told the woman. "Exclusive. With the...local authorities, if you know what I mean?" Her smile slanted. "Look. This eridu you're getting is trash. Who's your distributor? Perhaps I could put in a word for you..."_

"_Polla—" Carth grabbed her arm and pulled. This whole plan was insane. Go to a Sith cocktail party and steal uniforms? "I don't think it's the kind of party you need to dress up for," he hissed in her ear._

_Her smile faltered. "Is there any other kind?" She shrugged and turned back to the woman. "Okay, look. Frack the dress. We're here for information. Do you know anything about the Republic escape pods that crashed in the lower city?"_

Subtle she was not,

"_I'm calling security." The proprietor backed away from them both and went towards the counter._

_Carth dragged the woman he thought was Polla Organa out of the store by the scruff of her ragged jacket. Her shoulders were shaking with quiet laughter._

"_Back home we use eridu like that for dishtowels," she said disdainfully._

The fabric was soft and flawless in his fingers. White on white. Carth set his face in a rictus of a smile.

"I don't want to talk about it," he repeated. "Dustil, I'm so glad to see you."

His son just looked at him with Morgana's eyes. "I feel like I'm blind, Father. We need to get out of here..."

"Dustil, we're safe now." Somehow he had to reassure him. What had happened to make his son look so frightened and angry? Carth dropped the napkin and leaned over the table and took his son's hands in his own, ignoring how the boy flinched. He looked into those eyes levelly. Had Morgana's eyes been so dark?

Carth tried to think of something to say.

"How have you been..." the unspoken words hung in the air. _Living? Surviving? _Dustil's skin was dead white under the shadow of a man's beard, he could feel the bones in his son's hands, see them where they stuck out painfully on the thin wrists. _He's grown. Grown up so fast with nothing to eat. Morgana would be feeding him right now, stuffing his face with some of his favorite food—_Carth tried to think of what food that was, but he couldn't remember. His son's younger face swam in front of his eyes for a moment, not the boy he'd seen on Korriban---this was a taller, gaunter version of the same—but eleven-year old Dustil, a younger face, hair cropped short in an imitation of a Republic military cut—_like mine was then._ Younger Dustil had the same the same angry scowl.

"_Nice medal, _Captain _Father. Thanks for letting us come to the awards ceremony."_

"_I know you're upset with me, son. But you have to understand. The war—"_

"_The war's _over_. You should stay with us. Mom's mad at you, but she's not gonna say it."_

"_The war's not over. I-I wish it was, Dust'—but—"_

"_You two fighting again?"__ Morgana's silky tenor broke in, and there she was, standing in the doorway of their conapt living room. _

_It was just a base residence, sterile and plain. They'd only been living here for a few months, while she looked for something more permanent. Their old house in Rissel City was too far from base. It was Morgana's idea to move; the unspoken idea being that he'd take a local post. The implicit guilt of that nagged at Carth. He'd meant to—but the war...wasn't over. Saul had told him that much. _Far from over. _Most of the Mandalorian fleet had been destroyed in the cataclysm at Malachor. The head of the beast—the Mandalore—was dead—but the threat remained. Two thirds of the Republic Fleet was retreating to Deep Core patrol, to rebuilding and restoration; and the remaining third going off to pursue the last remnants of Fett Lin's armada. Carth had accepted a Core post in the hopes that Morgana and Dustil would come with him. Seeing the Outer Rim worlds ravaged made him only too painfully aware of how precarious things really were on Telos. But Morgana..._

_For the thousandth time he wished she'd agreed to relocate to Aldaraan or Byss, or even Kuat—any one of them--but in her own quiet way, she was as stubborn and immobile as Telosian granite. This was home, her people had lived on Telos for centuries—and she refused to brook the idea of resettling, refused to resign her own post in the Telos Security Force._

"One Republican's enough for this family..." _she'd laughed when she said that, but her eyes were dark and deadly serious._

"_He's gonna leave us again," Dustil said sulkily._

_His wife looked at them both and nodded. "I know," she said softly. Their eyes met over Dustil's head, and Carth looked away first, looked down at his hands. Morgana's voice was soft. "But he promised me he'll come back."_

Carth's hands tightened over Dustil's. "I'm sorry I didn't come for you sooner."

Dustil pulled away and crossed his arms across his chest. "I was fine here. Me and Mekel were _fine_ here without you." He frowned. "What's _wrong_ with you, Father?"

"Mekel?"

"Mekel. Mekel Jin. He's from here." Carth couldn't read the expression on his son's face. "From the underground. That's where we've been, you know. Dodging reporters and Jedi, living on our feet." Dustil swallowed. "Then I saw the vid about you...and..."

"I-I hoped you would see it, I hoped you'd find me...Dustil, I looked for you, I looked for you on Telos and when I found you again...I--"

His son was scowling. "I didn't _find _you, I was captured. _Why _did five branches of the Fleet and a flock of Jedi come after me?"

Carth frowned. "I thought—they were—it was because of...Malachor, not you. Because of who..." _Who he is._

_Revan's son.__ Revan and Malak's son._

The red-haired boy had trailed behind his grandfather like an obedient shadow; but as the old man showed them their quarters, those gray eyes looked up at his from behind the old man's back, pleading.

_Her green eyes looked like that, in the cockpit of the _Hawk, _after the _Leviathan_, pleading. _

"_Promise me..."_

"_Promise me if I become what I was you'll save me, Carth. I'm not Revan. I'm not her. It can't be true."_

"_Promise me if I become what I was you'll put a blaster to my head."_

"_I'll keep you safe, I promise." It felt like he'd said that a thousand times, but there was no safe. Not anymore._

"_I'll be right back, Polla, right back."_

"_It's only a year, Morgana—I'll be back before you know it. I promise."_

_Telos.__ Afterwards. Morgana in the bacta tank. Shattered and still with all the lights gone out. She slipped in and out of lucidity for a week, but some wounds can't be healed. Her head was half-encased in a duraflesh bandage, her body broken. Her ship fell from the sky and she was lucky to be alive at all. The nurses kept saying that. Hushed voices, white on white robes, white walls, her long dark hair shorn to the scalp and her face bruised and still._

_She wasn't alive for long._

_Carth wasn't the only Telosian come home to find everything gone; but he was one of the few to know at first who their new enemy really was._

"_I remember, I gave the order.__ I had Saul Karath bomb Telos as a test to prove his loyalty to the Sith. Promise me if I become what I was you'll—,"_

"—_put a blaster to my head."_

"—_keep me safe. Carth I'm not her, I'm not Revan. I'm Polla Organa. I'm from Deralia. I'm a smuggler, I don't even _like_ the Republic..." She was laughing through her tears but those green eyes were shadowed and full of secrets._

"_Dustil's alive," Morgana whispered. They'd taken her out of the tank and she lay on the white hospital bed, waxen and still. "Promise me you'll find him." Her dark eyes flickered and the light in them went out._

_Polla's green eyes filled with tears. "I can't be her," she repeated uncertainly. "Promise me, you won't let me be her."_

_Revan's yellow eyes opened. "Carth," she breathed. Her voice was rough and hoarse. The bacta suit covered her from head to toe, and he squeezed her hand through it, trying not to wince at the dark lines etched around those Sith-damned eyes. "Where...?" Her voice trailed off, and her eyelids fluttered shut. _

_"Polla," he said gently. "You can't sleep anymore, it's not good for you. You need to get up and move around."_

_"There's no Polla, Carth. There never was, only me, Revan," she whispered._

_"Revan," he said, numbly. "What am I to Revan?"_

_Her yellow eyes opened. "I love you, Carth," she reminded him. "When this is all over you and I will find something to live for, remember? Something besides Sith and the Council...when this is all over..." _

_"It _is_ over." He looked away from her. He couldn't look at her. This wasn't her, this couldn't be her._

"Father!" Dustil's fist connected with his jaw in a blaze of light and pain. "What the frack is wrong with you?" His son's voice was high and panicked.

"_Promise me." Morgana's dark eyes flickered and the light in them went out._

There was blood on his lip, salty and warm and his son was looming above him, face twisted. The stone table was overturned and all the caffa spilled like a stain on the white carpet. Little sandwiches and pastries smeared and scattered into the priceless fibers...

"_Promise me if I—,"_

"Dustil..." Carth wiped the blood from his lip and got to his feet heavily. His jaw ached, and he was so tired. A dull throb in his head echoed the pain along the side of his mouth.

His son just looked at him. "Mission told me a bad man had you. She said she's coming to help. She said..." His voice trailed off and he looked around the room, eyes wide and frightened.

Carth bent down and began to pick the spilled provisions up off the floor. "Mission's dead. I'm sorry, Dustil."

"You're wrong. You don't know that! Something's wrong with you—Mission told me that, and I felt it..."

"I buried her," Carth said dully, with the same pain in his chest that he'd felt saying it hours ago in the Library. "I buried her and sat there on the sand. I waited for...a ship came from the Fleet, they took me to the Star Forge." He closed his eyes, he couldn't look at Dustil and say this. "I went to the Star Forge and I stopped Darth Revan."

_I betrayed everything for her. I stopped her because I thought I could save her. I saved nothing. I saved her...for what?_

Dustil went on, ignoring him. "Mission says that she's coming—coming here. She—"

Carth frowned. His head hurt so much. His son looked so righteous and young, and suddenly, with a sinking feeling he realized.

_A trap, Revan sets traps for us all...even Dustil_. His pulse beat in blind fury at that, that she'd stoop so low to use his son for her own schemes.._.Of course she would, she bombed Telos for some kind of test for Saul. The same way she had Zaalbar kill Mission...to prove some kind of twisted loyalty—she twists everything, she—she must be stopped._

"You...talked to Mission Vao? Recently?"

"At the Library." Dustil looked at him, as if all of this was supposed to make sense. Of course it did make sense, too much sense. "That message drop she set up on Yavin...you know, you wrote me letters..." His son looked ashamed. "I—I didn't read them yet but I—Mekk has them. I hope he's ok...when we landed here I felt something—he's in trouble...but now I can't feel anything at all. It's like, I'm blind, Father. Y-you don't understand what it feels like to be cut off from the Force..."

_No, I don't understand. Revan, screaming in her sleep all the way to Manaan, her hands tugging at the collar he'd locked around her neck._

Carth closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Son, that's not Mission. Mission made a holocron of her memories before...before...she was—" _killed__ "—_before she died. Revan installed the holocron in the databanks of the computer on Kashyyyk. The Star Forge computer..."

"_As much as I can Mission, I want to give you the world. All of them."_

_"Again," Carth muttered. "I don't think you've thought this through."_

"Whatever you talked to, it wasn't Mission. She's dead. Mission's dead. I buried her." _Morgana and I never lied to Dustil, we used to pride ourselves on it. _His voice sounded like a stranger's in his own ears, hoarse and harsh and angry. "Whatever you talked to, it's a trap. A trap of Revan's. She's using you, to get close to me—or the Council or—" Carth frowned, as a terrible thought occurred to him. "Or...Malachor. If she knows about him, if she finds out about him..." The boy's gray eyes had looked at him pleadingly. _I promise I'll keep you safe..._

_I'll be right back, Polla, right back._

_Promise me—_

_The blaster melted Revan's face to slag, so real for something that was only a dream...Melted her face to slag. Changed it so utterly that it didn't look like her face at all...._

"Something's wrong with you," his son insisted. Dustil was so still, his eyes like coals in his pale face. Abruptly he turned away, headed for one of the two doors that led to the bedrooms of the suite. Carth stood there, fists clenched at his side and watched him go. "Something's wrong with all of this," the boy insisted stubbornly. He was so pale and drawn, a shadow of the boy he should have been.

"Get some rest, son," Carth said emptily. "We'll talk again in the morning."

XXX

_Malachi D'reev_

"Replay," the old man said softly. The holoscreen flickered in the darkened room and began again.

"_Mission__ says that she's coming—coming here. She—"_

"_You...talked to Mission Vao? Recently?"_

There could be no doubt, the boy was going to be a problem. Frowning, Malachi D'Reev made a steeple of his hands and considered. Captain Onasi had mentioned the existence of the computer on Kashyyyk, but the Senator had dismissed its strategic importance. Still...the dead twi'lek child seemed to mean something to Dustil. The expression on the boy's face when he spoke of her told its own story. At that age his own son had been completely unreasonable, despite his Jedi training. Part of him admired Revan's calculation, using a dead simulacrum of Mission Vao to sway the lad to her cause...and of course, a trap could be baited both ways.

"_At the Library.__ That message drop she set up on Yavin...you know, you wrote me letters—I didn't read them yet but I—Mekk has them. I hope he's ok...when we landed here I felt something—he's in trouble...but now I can't feel anything at all. It's like, I'm blind, Father. Y-you don't understand what it feels like to be cut off from the Force...."_

D'Reev's inquiries into Yavin Station had been unrewarding, at least on the surface. There was a data depot there, not uncommon in the Outer Rim, where many people were willing to pay for the privilege of circumspect transmissions; but on the surface that was all it was. Beyond that, it seemed to be a typical Exchange haven--small-time smuggling—but nothing that seemed like a tactical advantage. He made a mental note to have HK look into it again—discretely of course.

"Query: Mekel Jin, all records."

"CoruSec security, Mekel Jin. Origin: Coruscant Sub-level 47. Species: human. Age: seventeen standard. Unregistered." A sullen disreputable young face stared back, an image caught frozen in a security cam. "Last known whereabouts, Joy District sublevel. Currently wanted by the Jedi Council, grounds classified."

The old man stifled a snort, and poured himself another glass of brandy. _Who are you Mekel Jin? _"Unclassify them, authorization code 997, executive Senate request."

The sleek black console hummed. "Request denied, Council override. The records are sealed in the Jedi archives."

The Senator raised an eyebrow. _Oh are they?_

"Get me Master Krell."

The console purred to itself for a moment.

"The Master is unavailable. All members of the Council are in chamber and cannot be disturbed."

The old man was less than surprised. _They must know she'll come here. They must be soiling their robes with fear, wondering what she'll do to them...even as they chant their precious code to themselves, like children afraid of the dark..._

In some ways, Revan Starfire had been as much their creation as she had been his. _At least I have the guts to clean up my own mess._

"Have Master Krell contact me at his earliest opportunity." The Eosian, after all, remembered _who_ had forced the Republic's hand years ago, and would acknowledge where gratitude was due. Eos was a full Republic colony now, with all of the rights and privileges that accorded.

"FTL, Manaan. Coded. Request to speak with Master Vrook at the Republic Embassy."

He'd seen the reports from Wann, no doubt the troubled Ban woman thought she was clever and noble, championing the cause of a few Sith traitors. But close as some of her followers had been in Revan's council, he doubted they knew much of anything. At least nothing they could say without damning themselves to execution. And Malachi D'Reev had found that was one of the few predictable things in the galaxy – when the die was cast, sentients tended to save their own skins first

_Even my idiot son, for all the good it did him. _Old bitterness there, and regret.

"Holding for transmission—estimated wait time is approximately fifteen minutes."

_There was a time, Vrook Lamar, when you wouldn't have made me wait. _

Still, it was a small thing, no matter. The Senator turned his mind back to his previous train of thought.

"Past records on Mekel Jin? Family history? Employment? Academic?"

He didn't expect to find much, underground denizens weren't tracked very well, and they tended to stick to their own sewers. No surprise that the Onasi boy had escaped his net before, if that was where he'd been hiding. He wondered how a war-hero's son could have met up with such scum.

The console whirred. "No records exist."

_That_ was impossible. Even the sublevels had basic registration. Unless the boy wasn't from Coruscant...or, perhaps, the Jedi were taking him more seriously than D'Reev expected. _Who are you, Mekel Jin?_

"Extend query. Run the name 'Mekel Jin' across all planets for any matches."

"There are six hundred ninety-two sentients with that name in Republic space, cross-referencing for humanid, eliminates four hundred twenty-nine. Further elimination by age and approximate phenotype..." The console rattled on to itself and D'Reev tapped his hands, waiting.

"No matches found."

The brandy stung the back of his throat, and D'Reev leaned forward. He realized he was gripping the sides of his chair in an emotion that was almost excitement. There was definitely something here...the question was, what?

"Query: alias?"

"As an alias, the name was used recently on Tatooine, by a human registered locally as Kris Jin, whose origin is the Coruscant underground. The age and physical characteristics do not match."

_Perhaps a relative?_

"The surname in the Coruscant underground?"

"Five thousand, eight hundred, seventy-one matches."

"Run them, and also extend the query beyond Republic space."

"Estimated time of completion is three hours, five minutes."

D'Reev nodded to himself. It was never simple to get information out of the Rim worlds, but it was an interesting challenge. "Use my local connections to facilitate, whenever possible. And check all possibilities against the whereabouts and history of Dustil Onasi." The boys must have met somewhere...perhaps Telos? Records there were notoriously bad still....The revelation came to him so quickly he almost laughed.

_No, not Telos...the Jedi's interest in the boy...they play their hand badly in showing it. The Jedi must be desperate. Dustil did not come to Coruscant alone...there were others, the Ban woman, and...other students... _His lip curled.

"Switch query to my private archives. Korriban. The Sith Academy in Dreshdae."

His own records on _that_ subject were useless logs for the most part, one of his son's less than capable plans...still, remarkable how effective some of those records had been, in persuading some former Sith loyalists to turn coat when the advantage turned the other way again.

"Local databanks: Mekel Jin, native of Coruscant. Admitted to the Korriban Academy at age twelve." A younger-looking boy's image flickered, and rotated, as his vital statistics scrolled to the side of his image. D'Reev read the Sith runes absently. There was nothing remarkable in the descriptions of the boy's academic achievements or typical Sith brutality. A promising Force-user, but graded with less potential than young Onasi himself by most of his trainers...

A notation by Jorak Uln at the bottom of the holoimage caught his attention, and his hand shook a little, as he sat down his glass. The frailties of old age came sometimes when one least expected.

_Jin's admittance was sponsored by Darth Malak. Unpromising as he seems, keep in mind he has powerful backing. _

Malachi D'Reev's mouth curved in a smile. "Ah my son," he whispered. "Even dead, you do still surprise me."

The Jedi believed in the Force. The Genoharadan called it luck. But to Malachi D'Reev, coincidence was just a part of the great game.

XXX

_Mission__ Vao_

Her chassis was parked quietly on level twenty-three in front of the ramshackle cluster of buildings at the tail-end of the Embassy District. A gamorrean thug walked by peering at her a little too avariciously and Mission beeped an unsubtle threat. The sentient snorted and backed away. Meanwhile, she finished patching out of the local nets. If she had feelings they'd be pleased. She'd done a good job erasing what there was of Mekel Jin in the Coruscant grid—not that there had been much—but that might make things a little easier to keep him undercover for the time being.

Provided the sith wannabe actually followed her instructions, instead of getting off the tube forty stops early and wandering around the sublevels like this was some kind of joyride.

_--Idiot, where are you going?—_

"You said level twenty-three," he said out loud, walking through the station. Several peds looked at him oddly and edged away.

­_--Level twenty-three groundside, not _sub_-level twenty-three, you nerf-herder.—_

She'd noticed he did respond well to threats and name-calling. Presumably that was some kind of Sith training thing. Also, the entire day had been so bad already that her non-existent nerves were completely shot. It was almost a relief to be able to yell at someone and see them flinch.

"Oh," Mekel said wincing. Her transponders attached to his skin reported something you could call an angry flush spreading up his neck. "Underground, we don't call it that."

­_--Fascinating.__ We can discuss geography later. Now get up here.—_

"The Embassy district?" he whispered, turning back towards the tube. Already another one was snaking its way into the station, with a tired wheeze. Local train, she considered making it go express, but that would be too much interference. Not to mention...too....taxing. It was so irritating being this small, she'd had to devote most of T3's capacitors to erasing Mekel from the system. And in that process, she'd lost track the boy himself, only to have him pull this stunt.

_--Of course. Level twenty-three, the Embassy District. Platform five. Take the elevator to the fifteenth floor. I told you all of this already.—_

"You should have just said the Embassy District," Mekel muttered. The transponders registered something that could have been exasperation.

­_--Just hurry, you stupid krath turd.--_

"You said we have time," he argued, ignoring the curious looks. It wasn't so strange to see people talk to themselves. In Taris, crazies did that all the time. Here on Coruscant too. Mekel even looked like a crazy. Perhaps she should have considered getting him something else to wear. Even for this part of the Embassy District, which was decidedly down-market, he was kinda too coreslime.

Although the people they were going to meet wouldn't really care, as long as he didn't mess up the speech.

­_--We do have time, but I need you to hurry.—_

The Jedi were looking for him something fierce. She needed to get him out of sight. And there was another, even more infuriating reason that she needed him.

Two scabby trandoshans wandered by, eyeing her curiously. One of them hissed to the other one, waving a heavy claw in her direction.

"Frack off, lizard." Mission said. "I'm waiting for my master."

It was really outrageous the way unaccompanied droids were either ignored or considered to be public—that is to say free--property. She'd already had to temporarily incapacitate five sentients just to get here.

"I've never seen a T3 with a voder," one of the lizards mused. His tongue flickered out and he wandered closer.

"If you want to meet the dark fate in store for your race early, keep coming, scaly." Mission spat back in Trandoshan.

The other lizard—the female—blinked yellow-lidded eyes at her. "You might need a memory wipe, little droid. Sounds like it's been a long time since you've had one, if your processors are acting up like this." She reached into the pocket of her robe and withdrew a square plasticore card. "Give this to your master, and have the cit call me. Vasekla's Droid Repair Service, we handle all sorts, and—" her snout wrinkled as she took in the T3's battered chassis, "—work within all budgets."

"Is that a Kryyylak orchid on its chassis...?" the male murmured, peering down at her.

"Yes, it is," Mission hissed, although he wasn't talking to her, he was talking to the other lizard. Perhaps she'd been wrong, counseling Freyyr on a fifty-year expansionist plan. Perhaps they should move faster, at least against planets that deserved it.

The male swished his heavy tail in a sign of interest. "Have you been to Kashyyyk? How unusual. Are you Czerka salvage? I didn't know they utilized the T3 model, T5 is much better suited for forest work. Better balance on the treads for the terrain..."

"Wreeloa gweyyyk kash ullaaam," Mission barked darkly. She used Big Z's best I'm-going-to-rip-your-arms-out-of-your-sockets voice.

The female Trandoshan withdrew the proffered card and curled her lip, showing a hint of fang. "I do _not_ eat my own eggs, thank you." She considered. "Is your owner a wookiee? I haven't seen such bad manners since the last time I encountered one of those lice-filled carpets... If the Republic would lift the interdiction, we could have proper hunts again. The wookiees may be primitive, but they have all the right instincts of suitable prey."

Mekel's train was stuck in the tunnel. Mission considered several options. Gunning the lizards down was impractical, and foolhardy. Even if Freyyr and Big Z would understand, she doubted Revan would be as sympathetic. You really had to witness a centuries-old conflict between neighboring worlds to gain the proper perspective. She comforted herself with thoughts of the future. The Trandoshan homeworld was living on borrowed time, and for now, projected scenarios of its apocalypse would have to suffice.

She activated a heavy energy shield around herself to keep away intruders and drew her core attentions back to Mekel Jin. There wasn't much to see, a press of bodies all around him, the droning whine of the ads in the tunnel, his pulse beating a little too fast, and the sweat glands on his body operating a little too heavily; but it was better than making idle conversation with poo doo coreslime slavers.

XXX

**_8 days to Coruscant_**

XXX

_Korrie D'Reev_

It was very early when Korrie woke up. Outside his window, the three moons still shone dimly through the mist of the sky. Father was sitting beside him, like he was sometimes, and Korrie beamed at him. He'd had good dreams, he always did when Father was around.

_"The Jedi are wise and good but they wear ugly hoods._

_"The Sith are ugly and mean, but their amour gleams._

_When I grow up I want to be,_

_The Ruler of the Galaxy."_

Now that he was old enough to understand the words, they seemed silly, but it was the only song he'd ever heard her sing. Before Father came—before Father died and became all good again and came back to him, Korrie would sing it to himself. Father sort of hated the song, but he sang it anyways, because Korrie asked him to. Father would do anything for him, he loved him very much.

Father smiled at him, he was wearing his face with hair and a jaw, and the brown robes, which was always a little bit strange to Korrie. That wasn't how he remembered his father at all; but he wasn't really sure sometimes. The memories of Mother and Father as they had been when Korrie was really little were all mixed up with the vids he'd seen of them after they became evil Sith. Korrie reached under his pillow and pulled out one of the dolls. He'd traded two stacks of Starfighter holochips to Leeshy at school for them. Grandfather would _never_ have let him have such a thing. Grandfather would blow a gasket if he knew Korrie had them. It was exactly the kind of wrong propogizka—propograndza—something—that Grandfather truly hated.

He sat up in bed and adjusted the movable arms and legs, straightened the black robe and pushed the little button in the back that activated it. A tiny hiss and the action figure's red lightsaber sprung to life, and its body moved into a defensive stance. Of course it wasn't a real lightsaber but it was still very cool. His school robe was lying on the floor and he picked it up and pulled the other doll out of his pocket. He never took them both with him at once, because that way if he lost one, he'd still have the other.

"Mal, I need to talk to you about something. Something important," Father said.

Only Father could get away with calling him Mal. It was okay when Father called him that. After all, it was his name too.

Korrie frowned, and activated the other figure. This one was shorter, and her face was covered with the mask. He'd heard that there was another version where you could take the mask off and see her face, but he didn't have that one. They'd made that one later, when they realized she was good and a hero of the galaxy.

Sometimes Korrie had trouble remembering her face. He wished he had the better doll. The two lightsabers met with a soft clash, and he watched the two figures dance.

"I'm sorry, Malak," Korrie made the Revan doll say.

"I'm sorry too, Revan," the Malak doll said. Korrie made his voice go all cold like metal, the way Father's was in those vids where he was stomping around ordering people to blow things up.

Father didn't sound like that now, unless Korrie asked him to. The first time Korrie had asked, he'd laughed and done it, but lately being that way seemed to make him sad.

"I will rescue Malachor and make him live happily ever after," the Revan doll said. It was hard to get her voice right, because the last time he remembered hearing it, she'd been crying under a mask.

"Captain Onasi seems all funny," the Malak doll said to the Revan doll. "Why would he say those bad things about you?"

"We're having a fight," the Revan doll said. "Don't worry, we'll make up."

Father sighed. "We need to talk about that, Mal."

Korrie looked up. Father had his we-need-to-talk-about-serious-things expression.

"So, talk," Korrie told him. "I'm listening, I'm just playing."

The two dolls circled each other, their tiny red blades flashing back and forth.

_XXX_

_Dustil Onasi_

_They were hiding in the ruins of their old school, in one of the temporary annexes that had been built to house the swelling population on the base. Maybe it was built to be permanent, but the flimsy plimsteel structure had held up when then buildings of stone and duracrete shattered under the impact of the Sith assault. They'd used tremor bombs, and churned much of the planet's surface into an unstable mass of shifting plates and firestorms. There were other kids there too, but he and Selene kept to themselves, pooling what supplies they'd foraged, and steering clear of the constant fights and screams and crying as much as they could. They'd gone out the first week, looking to see if anything remained that could be called home, but where the manicured streets and lawns and white houses had been, there were only craters and ashes and death._

_They had to steer clear of the other kids, because everyone knew who Selene Karath was, and what her father might have done. At first it was only a rumor but then the battery-generated radio that Fasil Sanik guarded more carefully than his younger siblings confirmed it: Telos' orbital defense system, once the pride of the planet, had fallen from within. From treachery. The rumor was that Admiral Karath himself had given the codes to Darth Malak, and the Sith Fleet came and rained fire all over the world._

_And the world as they'd known it was gone._

_Dustil didn't allow himself to think about his parents. Mom had been on patrol somewhere in the skies, and Dad was off somewhere, off somewhere like he always was. Saving someone else's homeworld, when Telos fell._

_The rumors said ground troops were coming. Sith ground troops, coming to finish them off. His stomach hurt and the water was bad. His mouth tasted like ashes, and his ankle hurt from where he'd twisted it on some rubble. Somehow those concerns seemed more pressing than the Sith, but Dustil couldn't think of any way to fix them. It had been days since they'd eaten, and the sun was setting outside, casting red shadows through the blasted windows that weren't already boarded up._

_Selene was shaking his arm and trying to tell him something, but he was so tired. _

_She shook his arm harder._

"Wake up."

Dustil closed his eyes more tightly, with them closed he could imagine he was safe and warm between clean sheets in a real bed. It felt soft and secure.

"Please, wake up?"

For a moment he wasn't sure which was the dream and which was waking. Mekel's cousin's place was safe at least, but the smell of mold and sewage and the constant sound of dripping water never left. The air smelled sweet here, like a faint perfume of piped-in spicewood. Mom had a perfume sort of like that, and the memory made him smile a little. The bed was very soft and warm.

_Maybe this won't be another nightmare after all._

"Dustil, wake up?" Selene's voice was high-pitched and wrong somehow. Not her voice at all.

Reality came back like a bad case of Korriban flu. Dustil sat up, shaking. _The Senator's house, Father, that kid._The room was gray in the dim light, a faint trace of pale dawn shining through the ferracrystal windows. The windows didn't open and they were at least a kilometer above ground. That had been the first thing he'd checked the night before.

The kid was there, dressed in something that might have been pajamas in a normal place, but here they were embroidered with swirling patterns and the cuffs lined with some kind of fur.

"What," Dustil muttered, rubbing his eyes. The lack of the Force was like a hole inside him and all the plans he'd made to save his father from whatever the frack was going on seemed pathetic in the morning light. Here he was, a prisoner in one of the most powerful houses on Coruscant. Caught like a fish in a net.

The kid put a finger to his lips and gestured at Dustil to get up and follow him.

"What is it?" Dustil repeated.

"He told me to come get you," the kid whispered. "He says he wants to talk to you, but he's not sure if you can see him." His eyes darted around nervously. "We can't talk here, I only jammed the sensors for a few minutes. We need to hurry."

"Sensors?" Dustil frowned.

The kid nodded, and put his finger to his lips again, tugging at Dustil's hand with his other one. "Come to my room, it's safe there."

"I'm not leaving my father." Dustil shook his head trying to loose the fog from his brain. "And I don't want to talk to your grandfather."

The kid shook his head, almost angrily. "Not Grandfather. He can only see what I can see, but he's afraid Grandfather's going to hurt you.—I—I think that's what he wants to talk to you about."

"Who?"

The kid bit his lip. He pulled something out of his pajama pocket and showed it to Dustil wordless, gray eyes looking up, pleading.

Dustil looked down. The thing in the kid's hand was a Darth Malak doll.

XXX

He followed the kid down a long hallway made of stone. The kid had said his room was right down the hallway, but the corridor spiraled inward, and it seemed like they walked forever before finally reaching a set of double doors that slid open as the kid approached them.

Dustil kept glancing back. He didn't like leaving his father, didn't like any of this. Korrie kept pulling at his arm, dragging him through the double doors, and on the other side, the Force hit him again like a wave. He staggered a little with the weight of it. Somewhere Mekel was asleep having a dream that seemed to involve a lot of women wearing armor and carrying swords. Automatically he reached for his friend but Mekel pushed him away drowsily. Whatever dream it was, he didn't seem to want to wake up. The women weren't unattractive...the corridor spun and he was back in his own body again and the Force shimmered around the kid like a palpable thing.

"Are you ok?" Korrie whispered frowning.

"Yeah," Dustil said, shaking his hand free of the kid's death grip.

"In here." The boy turned down the hall and led him to a small room. Inside, a simple bed, and a few schoolbooks stacked neatly in the corner on the floor. There was nothing else in the room. For a disjointed moment he remembered his own room back on Telos, messy and filled with the treasures he'd found in their backyard: colored stones, branches, a terrarium filled with plants, his plasticore soldiers and ships scattered all over the floor and contrasted it against the stark emptiness of his student's quarters on Korriban. The kid's room was more like one in the Sith Academy: bare and plain. It didn't look like a boy's room at all.

The door shut behind them and the kid grinned at him, plunking down on the carpeted floor. "You feel the Force here, don't you? This section of the house doesn't have any ysalamiri. Mother and Father used to live here down the hall when I was really little..."

"Ysalamiri?" Dustil asked, sitting cautiously down beside the kid, but not too close. He kept an eye on the door.

"They're sort of like lizards, they live in the walls. Sometimes I play with them, but they bite...." Almost proudly, the kid showed him a scar that bisected his palm. "They block the Force...but I have to live without any in case I develop it. Grandfather says they can stunt my growth."

"Your grandfather said there was some kind of Force barricade..." Dustil rubbed his eyes, trying to shake himself awake. This all felt like a dream. Something poked his back and he reached around, pulling another doll out of the thick white carpet. His hand curled around it, and he stared—_Darth Revan, Darth Malak, and baby makes three. _Suddenly he felt like laughing. This was all nuts. _What the frack is my father mixed up in?_

"Yeah, the barricade is the ysalamiri...I can show you them later, if you want." Korrie grinned at him happily and expectant. "Can you see him here?"

_Mekel, Malachor D'Reev wants me to talk to his father's ghost...Mekel wake up, please._

At the edges of his mind Mekel stirred sleepily and pushed him away. _Rysya__ mandalore phar ech na' republik infi... _One of the women was taking off her armor and she wore almost nothing beneath it. Mekel's predictable response shocked him back into his own mind with a flush of embarrassment, and Dustil shook his head. He realized he was squeezing the Darth Revan doll so hard that the sharp edges of the armor cut into his hands. The kid looked at him reproachfully and Dustil handed it over. Korrie grabbed it and set it on the ground in front of him with the other one. The two figures engaged in a combat routine with a whirr of tiny red blades. Dustil shivered.

"Can you see him?"

The Force shimmered around the kid like a shield. _Like before, in the Library with the Jedi..._

_The Force isn't in the kid, it's around him, it's all around him..._

"No," Dustil muttered, looking away. _Sith tombs and ghosts on Korriban, he'd never seen one, but he remembered the stories..._

"_True Sith never die," Master Yuthura said, smiling._

The hair prickled on the back of his neck, and something brushed at his mind. Unfamiliar, not like Mekel at all. Dustil shivered and drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around himself.

_Get out of my head,_ he thought dimly, through a haze of Force power that was stronger than anything he'd ever felt, and somewhere Mekel stirred from a dream of warrior queens and brandy and blinked sleepily.

_Dustil?_

_Mekk!_

It was like shouting across a chasm, or a well of stars. Screaming underwater. The Force presence around him swirled like a mist, questing and poking, rummaging through his mind with something like untidy haste. There were emotions too, so strong he couldn't even begin to define them. Sorrow maybe, anger, hate. Regret. And love, love for the kid, so strong it made his eyes start tearing. He wiped them away. Dimly, he felt its surprise at discovering the Force bond.

"Get out of my head," he whispered out loud.

"He says he can't talk to you," the kid said, frowning. "He's trying, but you don't listen. He says he's sorry to scare you, maybe I should tell you what he says?"

Dustil opened his mouth but nothing came out. The Force presence withdrew, and it was like surfacing in a lake. Dustil gasped for breath, relieved to find his barriers intact again. He slammed them shut.

Korrie took his silence for agreement and started talking, words coming out in a rush. "He says yes, something's wrong with your father—my Grandfather did something to him—Grandfather can be very mean sometimes—and your life is in danger here. He says you should leave. Run away and go hide."

"I'm not leaving," Dustil muttered. "I'm not leaving Father."

_Dustil?__ Are you ok?_

_Mekk?_The other boy's mind was a confused blur of images and a raging hangover. Women in battle armor singing and drinking, a droid beeping, Mission's voice, gleam of a yellow 'saber reflected off dark sewer walls, a crowded train, a golden face and falling...Mekel slammed his own thoughts shut, leaving Dustil more muddled than ever.

_Are you with Mission? What's happening? Where the frack are you?_

_I'm fine. Where are you?_

_With that sithkid in his room in the Senator's house...the kid he's—he—brought me here to talk to his father..._

_His father._Mekel's thoughts seemed as careful as glass. _His father's dead...isn't he?_

"He says talk to Mekel Jin later! He has important stuff to tell you!" Korrie's voice was impatient. "He says if you want to help Captain Onasi, you should leave."

"No."

Korrie frowned. "I don't want you to leave...it's just what Father says. If you won't leave then you'd better convince Grandfather you're not going to be a problem. Grandfather's not very nice—except to me sometimes—" the kid interjected. "My father wants to know where Mekel Jin is."

"Doesn't he know everything?" _Isn't he some kind of all-powerful part of the Force?_

_Mekel, Darth Malak wants to know where you are..._

Suddenly it was as if they were both looking out of Dustil's eyes, Mekel was right there, in his head, staring at the kid. Some emotion that was almost..._hope?_

"He only sees what I see..." Korrie tried to explain. "And he talks to Mother sometimes, but he says it's harder to talk to her. She doesn't always listen, and she doesn't tell him anything...but she remembers me now and he says she's coming to get me."

_Tell Him, I serve Him, as always. _Mekel's thoughts were quiet and small.

_What? What is Darth Malak to you, Mekk? Serve him? Since when do you serve anyone? You never even said that to Uthar._

_Shut up, Telos.__ Tell him. Please..._

Dustil opened his mouth. "Mekel says he serves you, Malak." He couldn't help making a face. Part of him was getting really angry.

_Where's Mission? Is she ok? Where are you?_

_She's..._confused jumble of images, a droid—a T3? The taste of dry bread in his mouth and climbing down an endless ladder. _Don't freak out, Telos. If I tell you, please don't freak out._

Dustil _pushed_, really hard at Mekel and suddenly there it all was, all of his memories, everything that had happened to the boy since the Library. It was all a blur but one thing stood out. Later, it would be the only thing he could remember.

The only thing he could see.

_She's dead? Mission's DEAD?_

_She..._

Korrie watched him silently, and the two action figures danced their circular battle on the thick white rug.

Mekel didn't think of her as dead exactly, not anymore. Just—changed. Mekel was more than a little frightened of Mission somehow, and being Mekel, that made him respect her. Maybe even like her. _First rule of the Underground, Telos.__ It's just like the Sith. If they're stronger than you, they call the shots. _It was a lesson Dustil had never—completely believed.

_Revan did this, Darth Revan did this. She killed Mission. Father wasn't lying...she did something to him too, this is all her fault._

Her son looked frightened. "Why is Dustil so mad?" he asked the Force shimmer around him.

Dustil stared hard at the tiny figures on the rug, feeling the Force build inside him. Rage, cool and pure. _Power..._The Force rippled around the kid, he couldn't touch the kid, but he could show him how it felt. The dolls shattered, they blew up, a million pieces of plasticore and circuitry and the kid started crying.

_No, Dustil, don't—please. _

"I just want my father," Dustil said coldly. Mekel was pushing at him, in desperation, trying to tell him something but he didn't listen. He blocked it out, feeling the threads of their bond snap, one-by-one. A bond formed when they'd had nothing else, but now he had Father, and he didn't need this, didn't need some sithspawned kid and some murdering scum from the Underground telling him what to do, or some Sith Lord's ghost.

_I'll kill her for this, I'll avenge you, Mission. You and my father. And Telos._

_No, Dustil--- _Mekel's voice was faint and far away. Dustil pulled, and the bond snapped. Gone.

"I'm not telling him anything!" the kid said angrily, voice rough with tears. "He blew you up, Father...and Mother...and you were all I had...No! I don't care, I'm not telling him that!" The kid got up from the floor and threw himself on the bed, beating it with his fists. "Make him go away! He's not good, he's not going to help us, he hates me! He hates you!" The kid's head lifted and he stared at Dustil with tear-stained eyes. But they were cold and gray as stones.

"I could tell Grandfather you tried to hurt me," Korrie hissed. "Then you'd be sorry."

The Force presence swirled and flickered. Dustil wanted to get up and run away, but he couldn't move. He just sat there, hugging his knees to his chest, feeling the hate burning all through his guts. Feeling the power of it.

_Mission_

_Maybe when this is all over if you don't hate me already—we can have that third kiss._

_We never will now._

_Use your hate, Uthar had advised. Use your hate and your loss and your passion. Through your emotions, the Force will serve you._

"_Why are you sticking with me?" Selene's voice was hoarse and rough with tears. "They say I'm a traitor's daughter, don't you hate me, Dust' for what they say my father did? Everyone else does..."_

_They were hiding from the others. They had to hide from the others. The Sith were coming and he'd seen the intentions of the crowd as clearly as lines on a holo-map. They thought they were going to die, and they wanted someone to pay. They'd kill Selene if they found them...if Admiral Karath gave the Sith the codes to disable the orbital defenses then Admiral Karath betrayed them. Admiral Karath's daughter...Selene kept saying it was a lie, but he could tell she knew, as sure as he did that maybe it wasn't a lie. Neither of them said that out loud, but they both thought it._

"_You're not your father," Dustil said quietly. He kissed her clumsily on the lips. They were salty and wet with her tears. And his. "When the Sith come, tell them who you are. Maybe..."_

"_Tell the Sith?" Her voice squeaked._

"_Yeah," he said. "Maybe they'll let us live."_

"Telos," Dustil said out loud. "Ask your _father_ why he bombed Telos."

"What's Telos?" Korrie whispered. His head was cocked, as if listening to something only he could hear. "Oh, that planet in the vid. Y-y-you're from there?" he asked Dustil.

"Your mother destroyed it," Dustil said harshly. "She destroyed everything I had. _My_ mother died..."

He'd felt her slip away, sitting in a cold gray room on the ill-named _Samaritan, _not even realizing then what he felt was the Force, but he'd felt his mother die. The next day at breakfast he looked at Sith Admiral Armon Wu, their savior and expected to feel hate, but all he could see was Selene. Selene safe. Everyone was very nice to them in the weeks that followed. Transport to Korriban, Korriban where they'd be safe.

No," Korrie said. He shook his head. "Not Mother." His chin dropped and he put his hands over his eyes. "Father."

"That doesn't make it better." Dustil clenched his fists. He realized he was rocking back and forth slightly on the soft white carpet, rocking like a little kid, like he was no older than Malachor D'Reev. "Why," he said flatly. "Why Telos?"

"I dunno," the kid whispered. "He doesn't want to tell me, he says I'm too little to understand."

"Was it a test for Saul Karath? Like my father said? Bomb Telos, prove his loyalty?"

"I don't understand! Tell him yourself! I don't understand..." Korrie said to the air. The kid was crying again, softly and hopelessly.

"_Why?" Dustil asked the Sith Admiral, trying to sound like his father would have. The Admiral looked startled "Why?"_

_Various aides and guards moved closer to him, somewhere he heard the snick of blasters drawn. The air was so thick with tension you could cut it, and Selene was shaking her head at him. _Don't ask, don't ask, we don't have to know, we're safe now...

"_Orders," Admiral Wu said. "I followed them. You'll need to learn not to ask the wrong questions."_

"_Frack you!"__ Dustil ran at him, got up from the table and ran at him. The cold sting of the stunner hit him before he'd gotten more than two paces. Dropped him to the floor. He spent the last week of the journey to Korriban locked in the brig._

"Was it some kind of stupid test?"

"N-not a test...a—sacrifuss—sacrifice, he says." Korrie pulled the blankets over himself, shivering. "I don't understand. Father was evil then, and Mother too and they went away from me and they couldn't come back, and Father thought maybe—Telos—because of Mother—he thought..." Korrie shook his head. "I don't understand. He says he thought...it had to be Telos...to stop it all...but he says he's sorry, really really sorry. Please Dustil, they're not like that now. Please..."

_Selene came to the brig, she brought food from the officer's mess, better food than they'd seen since it all happened. "Please, Dustil—don't—don't make any more trouble." She tried to smile. "It's not so bad. We're going to go to a school, a school for kids like us. They'll train us, the Sith will make the galaxy safe. No more wars..."_

_On Korriban he advanced much faster than she did, on Korriban, she wasn't Saul Karath's daughter, she was just an indifferent student. Three months after they reached the Academy, she disappeared. Students disappeared all the time, and Dustil never let himself feel anything more than a vague pang of regret—until Father and Revan and Mission came and made him face the truth._

_A sacrifice.__ No more wars._

"Telos was a sacrifice?" Dustil's voice cracked. "Tell _Darth Malak_ it didn't work."

_Was Selene a sacrifice too? Was Mission?_

"It didn't work," the kid echoed sadly. "I want my mother," he whispered, almost to himself. "She promised she'd come back."

Dustil got to his feet. The kid was cowering on the bed and the Force presence beat over them like a wave. Just emotions, desperate ones. Somewhere very far away, Mekel was calling for him.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said coldly. "And I'm not going to help you. Don't bother me again."

It was a relief, to walk away, to step though the doors and feel the Force vanish again. Blindness like a safe white blanket.

XXX

**_7 days to Coruscant_**

XXX

_Lena__ Wee_

The huttspawn stood her up. _Again._

Lena swirled the glass of firewater and fizz-pop in her delicate manicured hand and considered her options. In the immediate future, the ones hidden in the murky depths of the Tatooine Sandblaster did seem the most promising. Considering, she gulped it down and waved a lekku at the human waiter for another.

Around her, the other patrons of _Motta's__ Oasis_ murmured careful conversation. Most of them were local, and careful not to look at her too closely; but a few greenhorns two tables away were gawking. She batted her lashes at the Iridonian male, an almost reflexive gesture, and was pleased to see his head spikes flush.

_At least you've still got it, kid. Even if some people are too stupid to notice._

Lena adjusted the straps of her starspangled gown and exhaled, beaming at the human who brought her the drink. Jin's head was bent deferentially and she mused about how much things had changed. _You've come a long way since you were a joygirl on Ryloth, kid. _

_And some banthashit pissant swoop jockey from Tatooine made good isn't gonna change that._

_Even if he does pay your salary._

She was lost in her own gloomy thoughts when the overly-waxed lekku brushed the back of her neck. He'd stolen up so softly behind her, she hadn't a hint of warning. His hand pressed the soft skin between her skull ridge with a lover's touch.

An ex-lover, that is.

Lena whirled around, nostrils narrowing at the familiar scent of cheap cologne and bad cigarras. _Even rich, you're still cheap, Griff Vao. You always were cheap, you bastard._

"Keep your tentacles to yourself," she hissed.

"You're looking well, Lena," Griff said. His eyes were staring at her chest and she flushed. "Dining alone?"

"I'm waiting for Nico," she answered coolly, regaining her composure.

His smile looked predatory. "Another late night at the office? I hear business is going well."

"Well enough," Lena answered, trying to catch the waiter's eye. The Jin man was more than a waiter of course, back in the old days he'd worked for Motta. Now, he was muscle for Nico. He was supposed to be protecting her, but instead he was chatting it up with one of the joygirls working the stage.

_Men._

XXX

_Zaalbar_

The laser welding torch jammed and sputtered and he growled at it, resisting the urge to bash the obstinate thing into the bulkhead. The Lin was sitting across from him doing nothing to help as usual, fiddling with the board game Canderous had given him. _Chess,_ the Mandalorians called it, but Zaalbar thought it was a waste of time. Back on Kashyyyk when he'd been but a cub they'd played something similar with stones and twigs that had as much more complexity as the variation of leaves on the trees, or the scents of the forest in different seasons. This _chess_ was a dry dead thing, and he had no interest in playing it again. Besides, there was work to be done, but the Lin considered himself above such things. Zaalbar assumed the boy was still sulking about his armor. For someone born to greatness he seemed to have no idea about the sacrifices required for the cause.

Zaalbar poked a sliver of metal in the offending nozzle and was rewarded with a sullen pulse of yellow light. The fur on his palm singed, and he growled softly under his breath.

"I don't know how you're planning on taking it apart," the Lin said, in that infuriatingly smooth voice. "Mandalorian battle armor isn't made to be broken."

"It's the same as a forest crab in the Shadowlands," Zaalbar groaned back. "Crack the shell." He ran the sputtering torch back across the curiass' seam. It burned red-hot but refused to budge.

"That armor belonged to my father," the Lin said reproachfully. "In times past, no barbarian outworlder ever saw it and lived to tell the tale."

Zaalbar had had better luck with the helm, it lay on the floor cooling, split and sliced along the back, widened and lengthened by strips of blue corusteel cut from Canderous' set.

The warrior was not pleased with this part of the plan either, but at least he was man enough not to sulk. He and Polla-Revan were in the other room, going over scenarios. They'd taken HK-47 with them. Polla-Revan was spending a great deal of time with her droid lately, Zaalbar assumed that in a way, the droid was another one of her ghosts—something she looked for to make the pieces of her past make sense. He sighed. Humans could be so strange. Compared to the future, compared to rescuing her cub and the pilot and the pilot's cub, the past meant nothing. What's done is done. This was how he had been taught, long ago, when little more than a cub himself.

Of course, the missives he'd gotten through the Mission-ghost from his father seemed to see things differently now. Things were changing on Kashyyyk, and Zaalbar wondered uneasily if they would change for the better.

"Polla-Revan ordered it done," he reminded the Lin. The boy had picked up Shyriiwook as easily as slipping into soft water, but that was not surprising, many Force users were like that. Canderous and Zaalbar still had trouble communicating, but they were working hard at it on both sides. Besides, after more than a year of fighting together, few words were needed between them. They knew the chase and the hunt, and both things would be important in the days to come. What other tools would be needed, Polla-Revan and this Lin cub would provide.

The seam bubbled under the laser ray, and Zaalbar put the chestplate on the workbench, setting the torch aside for now. He picked up the large hammer they'd found in the supply closet, and brought it down sharply across the blistering seam. The metal gave slightly with a faint creak.

Across the room the Lin sighed. "For five hundred years the Mandalore wore that armor in battles of sand, air and stars. You should treat it with more respect."

"It's been altered to fit before," Zaalbar argued. This was true. As he cracked the shell open, he could see the underseams, layered like old scars, places where the carapace had been patched and fitted several times. "It's a dead thing, Fett-cub, you should place less importance on dead things."

"Like your computer-god?" the Lin shot back.

"That's different," Zaalbar barked. He wouldn't expect an infidel to understand. Things on Kashyyyk were changing. He hoped they would change for the better.

XXX

A/N coming with part two in a few days...wanted to get this posted. Thanks all, as always!!!


	16. Countdown to Coruscant, Part 2

_part two of two--.it's long, hope no errors on upload. A/N at end. Add to disclaimer, Dark Horse Comics, and probably, just to be safe, Obsidian Entertainment. (Not really KoTR2 spoilers though, just geography.) Revised version, sure enough, it's too long—fixed two places where it ate text. Hope it doesn't eat more._

**XXX**

**Chapter 16 / Countdown to Coruscant, part 2**

_XXX_

**_6 days to Coruscant—_**

_XXX_

_Polla Organa_

It wouldn't be long now before Junior was born. Maybe another week. Polla frowned to herself, hugging her belly as she leaned over the desk, trying to remember the codes for the FTL transmit. Traditionally on Deralia, a birth was a time for celebrations and gift-giving, but she'd been so caught up in her own misery and her family's subtle tortures that she'd completely forgotten to get Seiran anything at all. Well, it had to be something special, something really nice. She had a few credits stashed away, and there was one place in the galaxy to spend them. Maybe some specs for engine design, to help with his work...although that wasn't the most romantic thing in the universe...still, Seiran was a practical man. She could download them...and have them instantly. He'd probably like that more than the book of Aldaraanian love-poetry her mother had so thoughtfully suggested, or—she gritted her teeth—Cousin Vaya's suggestion: an uncut copy of the _Coruscanti Underground Version _and matching Darth outfits.

Cousin Vaya's black eye would heal up just fine, if she kept the ice pack on it. Most people would duck when you threw a thisla globe at their head. It wasn't Polla's fault Vaya was so slow.

_Welcome to Suvam's Emporium. Please enter your username and password for access._

Polla typed them in, frowning. _Spicegirl3. 9 76 3 8 Deralia_....was that right? The console beeped and she tried again. _9-76 38 Deralia_.

_User account is on credit hold. Please see the management._

"Credit hold?" Polla sputtered indignantly. Sure, she lost that spice shipment to mites, but they cleared that up before she came back to Deralia. Suvam docked two months of the wages he owed her and called it even.

She typed in the request for visual transmit, wincing at the sight of her swollen fingers. Pregnancy was _not _a blast. She couldn't wait for this to be over. A faint smile crossed her face as she thought about Junior in her arms. _Soon, very soon..._

Her former boss's face appeared on the screen. His round eyes blinked at her, with a complete lack of recognition.

"May I help you?" the rodian said, politely.

"It's _me!"_ Polla said. "I don't owe you any money, Suv—why's my account on hold? I should have four thousand credits plus interest at this point. It's been over two years since I drew on it!"

"The account was closed," Suvam Tan said flatly. "I don't know who you are, Sentient, but I can't provide you with any more information."

"You lying cheat!" She sputtered indignantly. "Look, is this about the spice? Those mites weren't my fault, and we settled that years ago, before I resigned."

His ear stalks twitched. "You humans all look alike," he muttered. "Who are you?"

Polla sighed and gritted her teeth. "Polla Organa. The Deralian you hired for the Corellian spice run. I worked for you for seven years, you stupid hessi mud-raking flapper!"

"Polla?" His skin turned a lighter shade of green, or maybe it was the fuzzy feed. Cheap FTL was cheap. "Polla Organa?" His cone-shaped ears trembled. "Verify your identity."

"Bloody nine dash seven six three eight. Deralia. On Corellia I had to meet a Hutt named Uggash to deliver the goods. The passcodes to the starport were seven charming niner oh fifty-three—"She paused and narrowed her eyes. "No one but you and me know this crap, Suv. You change the codes for every runner. Why the hell do I need to verify anything? Who else would know—"

The Rodian peered at her, glancing down at something on his desk. Probably a portable, cross-referencing her picture with one in his files.

"You humans all look alike," he repeated uncertainly. "You appear to have gained mass. And your coloration seems altered."

"I'm pregnant," she said. "I wanted to buy something special for my husband."

"You're married?" The rodian dropped his suspicions almost instantly and beamed. "Congratulations! I don't pretend to understand human love, but the pilot seemed quite taken with you, when I saw him last. I'm sorry that you were so indisposed, I was quite looking forward to another one of our chats."

"Not Therion," Polla said. _Thank the stars...Therion was an ass, even if he was one of the best pilots I ever saw... _"Seiran, a boy from back home. We live on Deralia, now."

Suvam nodded at her, winking slightly. "Of _course_ you do. Don't worry; I won't breathe a word to anyone."

"Um...so...yeah...anyways, my account?"

The rodian shrugged. "You cleaned it out on the _Hawk's _first stop here on the way to Tatooine, but I have no trouble extending more credit. Did the pilot tell you about my offer? There are several members of my organization that are...most eager to...assist you, in any way that you need." His skin mottled deep rust. "I've been following the newsvids. You've got them all guessing...and running in circles. Rumor has it that you're bound for Coruscant—or maybe Ziost. Clever, having Captain Onasi speak against you like that...I don't presume to understand...but it hides your true purpose—whatever that is--most admirably."

Polla froze, the casual grin on her face melting like Deralian mud. _No. No, it can't be._

"My...plan...," she said, stalling while her mind began to reel.

Junior kicked inside her belly and she hugged him tighter, arms around her stomach like a shield.

Suvam nodded eagerly. He'd always been an odd trawler, so child-like on the surface, bad with details, but underneath that he had a lot of power. You don't work for someone for seven years and not notice things like that. She'd always been a little afraid of him, actually. And he'd never been this nice. Not to her...

"There's something I've always wanted to ask you," Suvam said, deferentially. "If you don't mind my impudence, Lord Revan."

Polla swallowed. _No. No no no no. _Her pulse pounded in her throat.

"Ask," she said.

"It's a little thing, but I have always wondered...what did you do to the real Polla Organa? She was a little flighty, but I was rather fond of her..."

"Nothing," Polla whispered. _Fond of me? You don't even remember what I look like, you moron. _"I—I d-didn't do anything to her. She's probably alive somewhere, you know. Doing something. Smuggling maybe. I have no idea."

The rodian shrugged. "No matter." He chuckled. "You know the pilot had me fooled completely. I thought the little twi'lek was dead, but she's been nosing around my systems. I'd recognize her signature anywhere. She hacks the same way she plays pazaak. Let her know I'll give her anything she wants, with your approval of course. She doesn't have to play games."

_The little twi'lek..._Polla shivered. "I'll tell...um, Mission Vao that. Uh—yeah—yes, okay..."

"If she wants to play more pazaak though, I'd enjoy a game, whenever she wants..." Suvam tapped his temple in thought. "Oh! There's another few things I wanted to tell you...I keep getting tracers on the data drop she set up for Dustil Onasi. The boy accessed it, and ever since, there's more ice than I can keep freezing off. Coming from Coruscant, from high on Coruscant if you get my meaning..." He blinked at her meaningfully.

"Right. Okay. Thanks."

"So _are _you going to Coruscant? Are you there now? I'm impressed that you've actually routed this transmission through the Deralian grid. Your resourcefulness was always a thing of beauty."

"That'd be telling." Polla made herself smile. _He's traced my call. He knows where I live. Shit. I don't want him to know I'm me. If he's been in touch with _Her..._Suvam's been in touch with her...she must have gone to Yavin...the damn bitch went to Yavin and stole my money... _Polla's outrage was reflexive but short-lived. _I don't want to remind _Her_ about me! Shit. Shit... _

"I'm sorry, I forget myself. It gets lonely up here, and I have so few visitors. What was it that you required, Lord Revan?" Suvam Tan chuckled. "Really, asking me if you could access your old account! It's a story to tell my grandspawn, if I ever am so fortunate."

"Forget it, n-nothing for now. Um...I have to go, Suvam. Emergency. There's...this...thing I have to go do. You know...important...thing...because..."

_Because I'm Her and that's what Dark Lords do. Important things. Important Dark Lord of the Sith...things..._

"Of course, Lord Revan. Please let me know if I can assist you in the future. Your credit line is--of course--infinite."

Polla punched end transmit with trembling fingers.

_Maybe the book of Aldaraanian love poetry's not such a bad idea after all._

_Infinite credit line._

_No. No no no no no._

They had family on Aldaraan, on her father's side. Traders that had done well, set themselves up like aristocracy. They'd get her a good deal. Uncle Boon thought she was the cutest thing ever, that time her parents had taken her there when she was ten.

_XXX_

**_5 days to Coruscant_**

_XXX_

_Yuthura Ban_

Vrook's intervention had one immediate effect—they'd been moved to better quarters. True, soft couches and holo-vid access didn't make detention cells any less a prison; but at least now they were together and they could talk. Even if everything they said out loud was monitored, and a hastily-rigged Force barrier—orders of the Jedi Council—kept them from speaking without words—Yuthura didn't think it mattered. What they said was the truth. And it was time the truth was known.

Vrook came when he could, but Master Ferrin came more often, his eyes cold with dislike.

"If you sought redemption," the zabrak said softly, "why didn't you return to us, after the Mandalorian wars?"

Gharen spat on the ground. "You know why, _Jedi_," he said. The grizzled war veteran was the only one of them without the Force, but he'd seen the same atrocities as the others. He'd been part of Revan's personal guard, long ago. "We won your war...only we weren't supposed to win it, were we?"

"That is not for me to say," the Jedi folded his hands and paced back and forth. Ten pairs of eyes looked at him accusingly. The others—the twenty-two former soldiers who had joined them on what Yuthura still thought of as their victory march—were detained elsewhere. She'd heard from Vrook that some of the ordinary soldiers had been released, after swearing allegiance to the Republic.

_Nothing that simple for us_.

"Malak used to say that the Republic was rotten to the core," Lukash Vair's melodious voice twisted. "He told me that the Jedi Order was only a bandage hiding the festering sore beneath. _Malak _would have known...wouldn't he, Master Ferrin? I see nothing has changed." The falleen's sith markings overlaid his scales like a pattern of dark promise and his eyes were burning with golden hate.

She was losing control of them again, losing her own resolve locked in this place. It was hard to believe in the good of the Republic, after hearing what she had heard.

"You served with Nomi Sunrider, and Cay Qel-Droma, didn't you, Master Ferrin? You and Vrook?" The scarred half of Sheris' face was covered with a dull metal mask the selkath had fashioned to hide her burns. Sheris' voice through the mask was cold and eerily like Darth Revan's own. Yuthura had only seen _Darth _Revan once—Revan herself was entirely different--but she would never forget that voice.

Ferrin's eyes dropped to the floor. "I did," he said quietly. "In the battle for Coruscant, when we thought all hope was lost."

"And Yavin IV?"

"I—I did not—was not--there."

"The Sith Wars..." Sheris Darkstar mused. She sat on one of the couches, next to Beya Organa. The Deralian squeezed her hand comfortingly and muttered something under her breath. "Exar Kun and Ulic Qel-Droma...of the two, I'd say Ulic caused more collateral damage—at least initially--and yet, you forgave him?"

"It was a different time." Master Ferrin crossed his arms and turned away from them, staring at the restraining field. "And we learned from our mistakes. After the Sith War, we changed the way Jedi were trained. We learned caution, prudence, and reserve."

"You learned nothing," muttered Beya Organa. "You cast us out."

"We let you go, to find your own peace with what you had done."

"We came back with our peace," the former Sith Admiral Armon Wu mumbled. His pudgy hand was shaking, and he took a long swallow from the bottle of Althiri firewater that Vrook had brought them. They had an entire case, but they were going through it quickly. _Get drunk, that solves everything. _Yuthura drained her own glass and poured another.

On the couch beside her, Vikor Tio made a rude gesture with his lekku at the Jedi Master's back. Yuthura poked him with her elbow and he flushed a deeper green. The Rylosh native made jokes and flirted with her incessantly. He wasn't bad-looking—_not that we'd have any privacy here—not that some of the others care..._She'd woken up on more than one night, shifting uncomfortably on her narrow couch, listening to the night sounds. She didn't know who and she didn't want to know. Privacy was more precious than credits to a former slave. Now, the Republic had taken that too.

"My parents raised me on stories of basilisk war droids raining fire on Iziz," Davad Arkan interjected, almost conversationally. The brown-skinned Onderonian was sitting on the floor. He was the only sober one among them. Sith he may have been, but he had never lost his Jedi reserve, an inner calmness that seemed to radiate from the core of his being. Yuthura tried to take strength in it and not think of slaves penned in cages. _We will not be in this cage for long. Vrook promised..._

_Empty promises, _a part of her mocked. _The Council is divided. Vrook does not speak for the majority, he admitted that much. And all of them care more about _Revan_ than us._

"The Mandalorian invasion of Onderon during the Sith War was a tragedy," Master Ferrin admitted.

Davad shifted his long legs. "And yet, you let it happen again forty years later. Many tragedies have happened on Onderon," he added. "But we knew the Mandalorians were a threat that would not go away. The real tragedy is what I learned too late, and what my people never knew."

"I was on Denoba when the Krath war droids came for the Council," Master Ferrin still seemed lost in the past. _Easier for him to face the past than his complicity with the present. _"We fled to Ossus until the light of a dying star sent shockwaves across the galaxy. We fled to Dantooine..."

"You _fled," _Beya's voice was high with scorn. "Your old wars mean nothing to us. You weren't even at Yavin IV. You had no part in the end of _that_ war. Tell me, _Master, _how many Jedi from Yavin IV still live? How many of them came back from the destruction of a world for your greater good?"

"_That_ is why you should never have acted!" Master Ferrin spat, losing his composure. He turned around again, head lowered slightly, and his horns glinted in the merciless fluorescents. His face flushed red. "You learned nothing from us! You repeated the same mistakes, the same history, the same fall..."

"Revan used to say the Council set her on her dark path," Beya shot back. "Tell us, Master, is that true?"

"Given time, and more training, she would not have fallen. You would not have fallen. She was untested, and you were all so young...if you had not followed...To stop Exar Kun, the Jedi acted as a united body. It took all of our strength to keep our resolve—and our sanity. It took the wisdom of ages--"

"There was no time," Davad said. "No time for Onderon. No time for Cathar, no time for Eos, no time for the other systems already groaning under the Mandalorian leash. We did what we had to do."

"We fought the war the Senate wanted," Vikor said softly. The usual mirth was absent from his voice. "We provided the Fleet with their advantage. But you all underestimated—"

"If you had just returned after Malachor—if you had come before us—"

"I heard someone did," Yuthura Ban found her voice at last. "Where does _she _walk now, Master Ferrin?"

He would not meet her eyes. "Do not speak of that."

She made herself yawn, made her voice cultivated and unconcerned. "I would prefer to speak of more pleasant things, but for all of Vrook's kind words and your veiled threats, I see no action and no resolve."

"The Selkath Authority has asked for an extension," he said, grudgingly. "They wish more time to gather evidence regarding the death of the Progenitor."

Yuthura laughed. She meant to laugh carelessly, but it came out wrong. Wrong and choked. "Are you going to blame that on us too? Revan's pilot told me the truth about that, when they were on Manaan. The Republic built that harvesting plant..."

"--and Revan killed their god," Master Ferrin said.

"Following the orders of a Council that destroyed her mind!" The anger was so sweet that she could taste it, mingling with the numbness inside of her to make a cold dark place that was safe and strong.

"One fate for one such as Revan," Sheris said. "Fallen Dark Lords can always be redeemed." Her good eye burned yellow through the rim of the mask. "Another for their followers." She swallowed more firewater. "When is our trial, old man? How long is the delay?"

"We will let you know." Master Ferrin sighed and rubbed his temples.

"If I asked you to burn my past from my mind, would you do it? Would I be redeemed?" Sheris suddenly sounded young and uncertain, and painfully sincere. Sheris had been young, very young, when the Mandalorian Wars began. One of the youngest Padawans to answer Revan and Malak's call.

"I will leave you now," the Jedi said. _No answer at all, of course not. We have to live with our sins. _He pulled out his commlink and spoke into it. The primary restraining field dropped for a moment and he stepped through. It shimmered into life again, vibrating blue. The secondary one dropped, secure as any airlock and he passed from their sight.

"Well, that was productive," Vikor said acidly. "Shall we play another round of pazaak now? Or perhaps Mandalorian chess?"

Beya Organa got to her feet, stretching slowly. "There's a few more Deralian drinking games I haven't taught you. We don't have any knives, but we can make do. Besides," she said, glancing up at the ever-present eyes of the holocams that tracked their every move. "I haven't told you all about my latest letter from home..."

XXX

**_4 days to Coruscant_**

XXX

_Lena__ Wee._

He sent her flowers every day, although of course Motta picked them out. She could tell by the selection. Viscous phrene lilies from Nar Hutta, dripping Degoban roses, and a bouquet of something white and lumpy that smelled terrible whose origin she couldn't even guess. The white and lumpy bouquet came with a sack of raw bantha meat, and feeding instructions. She'd dumped each offering in the disposal, until the unit backed up and broke. A repair tech was supposed to come, but in the interim her house reeked.

Griff Vao would have used her own credit chips to buy her flowers, but at least he had taste. Well—no—but at least he didn't have a hutt's olfactory glands. She'd blown him off easily enough, that night at _Motta's Oasis. _All she'd had to do was keep mentioning Nico's name. Griff Vao had always understood the importance of saving his own hide. Eventually he got the hint and left.

But Nico himself never showed.

Lena did a good job of avoiding her boss and newly ex-lover for a Tatooine week before Nico Senvi sent Jin and another goon after her.

"Boss wants to see you," the tall scarred human said. He had a Mandalorian accent. Mercs were the worst.

"Now," Jin added.

"Nico knows where I live." Lena said disdainfully, trying to slam the door in their face.

"See now, most people would worry if the Boss knew where they lived, but you...you're different." Jin grinned at her, smoothly pushing his shoulder in the way of the door. He shoved it back open and the two of them trooped in, tracking sand all over her immaculately polished floors.

"Who do you think set up his Exchange contacts in the first place?" Lena shot back.

Jin laughed. "Motta. Don't give yourself too much credit, kid."

"Hutt's not looking so good, lately, ever since he tried double-crossing the boss..." the merc added. "Flipper's so swollen he needs an extra grav-lift just to carry it around."

"Tell _Motta_ not to send me anymore flowers."

"He's just tryin' to help Nico...now that he sees things more clearly..." Jin shrugged. "I worry about you, Lena. You don't see the big picture, lost in your numbers...but Nico really wants you bad. He needs you. When we left him he was trying to balance the accounts for last quarter..."

Involuntarily, Lena shivered at the thought. She'd never seen anyone get so upset trying to do simple arithmetic as Nico Senvi.

"He stood me up," she said sullenly.

"He's sorry, that's why he has Motta sending you flowers." The merc wrinkled his nose. "That the flowers I smell? In my clan, we would give you the heads of the beasts we slew...I think the odor would be an improvement over this..." He shrugged. "I've mated with many twi'lek women, but I don't understand your culture."

"On my part of Coruscant, we'd just give you cash." Jin winked at her.

"Nico should know better!" Her voice sounded shrill.

_Don't be such a shyrack, Lena. _Griff used to say that, whenever she got mad at him. Which was most of the time.

The merc laughed. She'd seen him around, but never caught his name. He'd been here as long as most of them, from the beginning. "What Nico knows and what he doesn't know. Not really a good thing to talk about, babe. That's how Motta got in trouble."

Lena sighed. "You're right..." He _was_ right—the man Nico Senvi was now.... She looked down at her clothes. She was dressed to sprawl out on the couch and watch the vids. Not really suitable at all. "Give me a second to change and I'll come with you."

She went into the other room and put on a red silksynth dress that hugged her curves like armor. It was the dress she'd worn when she'd first met the new and improved Nico Senvi. His favorite dress. Lena had more expensive ones now, but one thing you learn as a joygirl, there's no reason to change a working formula. The art of seduction was a lot like arithmetic. Just make everything add up.

The old Nico wouldn't have noticed the dress. The old Nico Senvi was just a kid who cared more about engines and his swoop racing record than women. But new Nico was different. How different...well, it wasn't something they talked about. _What Nico knows and what he doesn't know. Not really a good thing to talk about. _Truer words were never spoken.

When they got to the offices of I.E. Limited, Nico was locked in his suite. Nico lived in those damn rooms. Jin and the merc left her at the door, muttering something about pressing business elsewhere. She couldn't blame them, she could hear the string of babble that sounded like curses from all the way down the hall. It wasn't Twi'lek and it wasn't Basic. Wasn't any language any of them had ever heard before. But that was another thing, you just didn't talk about. Not if you were smart.

Lena Wee had always been smart.

Hesitantly she opened the double doors emblazoned with the I.E. Ltd. crest and stepped inside. He was there at his desk surrounded by white stacks of printouts, and the geological charts tacked on the walls were covered with more scribbles in his indecipherable shorthand.

The orange twi'lek looked up at her, mouth crinkling into a smile of relief. "Lena, finally you've come."

"I waited for five hours at _Motta's_ you huttspawn," she snapped.

He ignored that, Nico was great at ignoring what he didn't want to hear. "The Exchange rep wants us to do a bond issue, something about building up more capital and there were...numbers...I need you to look at the numbers...they seem large so I imagine that's good, but I really need you to check." His lekku curled awkwardly. They looked dull and unkempt without her around to wax them. "We've had some setbacks. Okay, we've had some catastrophes. I don't think Tatooine is going to work out." His face was tragic.

Lena sighed and took the stack of paper he handed her automatically, running her pink-nailed hand down the calculations. As usual, Suvam Tan was trying to shave off percentages where he could. She frowned. You couldn't trust a rodian, and if she called him on it, he'd just act dumb. Son of a mynock might think he could fool other people with that, but Lena Wee wasn't born yesterday.

"What do you mean not going to work out?"

He looked at her sadly. "Tatooine's dead, Lena. And the mines are all played. Czerka was right, the ore was tapped out long ago, so it had no way to sustain itself..." He shook his head sadly. "So much time has passed...but I had such hopes..." He unfolded a map in front of him, a star chart promotional poster from the _Official Coruscant Version. _He'd even gotten the thing autoprinted by the original cast. The holoimage was marred now with red ink where he'd scribbled more notes, half in Twi'lek and half in his own shorthand that no one else could understand.

Lena gritted her teeth. _More mad schemes. _I.E. Limited was a house of cards built from a bad sidedeck and Nico was completely oblivious. "We've signed guarantees with the Exchange, you huttspawn, we can't just back out. Look—I explained it to you, we don't have to _make _money, we just have to get more investors and keep spending it..."

"You're beautiful when you talk about capital." His lekku curled around her upper arm in a possessive gesture. His head was close to hers now, and his voice was soft. "If you want, we could do a little more work on founding the dynasty..."

"I'm not in the mood, Nico."

Her lekku betrayed her, flushing a deep pink. He raised a brow ridge. She pulled away. _Damn him._

"Tell me about your latest plan. I'll tell you if we can make it work." She folded her arms and stood there, waiting to hear it.

Nico nodded thoughtfully and turned back to his map, putting it down on the projector screen so that its image floated between them, a black veil speckled with stars.

"Tatooine," he said, pointing at the planet with the large red 'x' drawn through it. "No good."

"Manaan." The ocean planet had another 'x' drawn through it. "Manaan would never work. I hate water, and the natives are far too sensitive, especially with the kolto gone."

Lena tapped her foot. "Yeah and? Next you're going to say, Korriban, Dantooine, and Kashyyyk. Nico, I know you're a fan, but this plan makes no sense. You can't just buy the Star Maps, you know." _And I still don't understand what you expect to do with them. Not that I'd ask you, that was Motta's mistake._

"The Star Maps..." Nico chuckled. "No. Not the maps. Kashyyyk or Dantooine, I think..." He looked thoughtful. "Kashyyyk's not open to travelers, but we could make a pilgrimage to Dantooine, check it out--perhaps combine it with our own...amusements?" He gave her that grin that she'd never been able to resist, sort of hapless and innocent, only with a scoundrel's flash of pearly whites. "I've never taken you anywhere. Lena, would you like to go on an expedition with me?"

"Dantooine's not exactly the vacation spot I had in mind..." _Then again, Dantooine's gotta be better than this bloody banthacrapping desert, even with the half its surface devastated by war. _She pondered. "Land _would_ be cheap there...if we could find some resources to exploit...it is farmland, isn't it? They must be trying to rebuild..."

Nico nodded eagerly. "This is what I love about you, Lena Wee. Your practical number-loving calculating little mind."

Lena batted her lashes. "You love me for my mind?"

It wasn't just the size of the salary he paid her. Whatever he was, whatever it was that he'd become, Nico Senvi still had a huge...amount of charm.

_XXX_

**_--Three..._**

XXX

_Carth Onasi_

"It looks fine," Carth said to the contractor. The bothan nodded at him, wiping a dusty hoof on the side of his coveralls. "You've done a great job," Carth offered, when the sentient didn't leave.

_Am I supposed to tip him? I thought D'Reev was covering all of the costs... _The entranceway still needed to be painted and they were installing the hook-ups in the 'freshers, but the luxurious conapt that D'Reev had given them in the heart of the Chancellor's District was almost ready for occupancy.

As always, Dustil was a silent shadow at his side. Carth really thought the boy was getting better—or at least he wanted to think that. The anger had faded from his son's eyes, to be replaced with something like wary resignation. He didn't bother to hide his dislike for the Senator, but to Carth's relief the old man only seemed amused by it. Carth was more saddened by the strained relationship between Korrie and his son. He had hoped that they'd..._why, why hope that?_ Carth shot the thought down almost effortlessly. It was getting easier not to think of her. He would not let himself think of her._ Not yet._

His talks with Korrie had been painful but necessary for both of them. As always, he felt detached sadness when he thought of the boy. He was too young to face such terrible truths. But in times like these, even children could not remain innocent. _I'll keep you safe._

"You have some mail," the bothan said finally. "Papermail. A uniform came by with it yesterday. Lots. You want me to get rid of it?"

"Mail?"

"You're famous, Dad." Dustil said. His son threw him a half-smile, but it looked pasted on. The boy was still so tense.

_Famous..._

The past week had been a blur of invitations and meetings with Telos ambassadors and Fleet personnel. Also countless offers he had to reject, each more absurd than the last. Represent Telos in its Senate plea; take a place in the Fleet..._they still call it the Fleet even though we have almost no ships; _meet with the Jedi Council--_reasons unspecified—D'Reev counseled against accepting_; have dinner with a few wealthy Senators; attend the opening of an art gallery; an exhibition at the Jedi Archives; sponsor a new line of Corellian disc ships—_don't think about the _Hawk_ it leads to thinking about her; _attend a function at the Mandalorian Embassy—_discovering that there was a Mandalorian Embassy was a complete shock—but that had been an easy, albeit polite, 'no'; _meet with some Manaan lawyers regarding the pending trial there—_I have nothing to say, what could I say_; and a hundred other requests of the same ilk.

What Carth _had _done, what he thanked the stars he'd been able to do, was spend time with Dustil.

It was slow, and it wasn't always pretty, but Carth felt sure that they were beginning to rebuild. The morning after, when Dustil woke him up and they talked about Mission had been a real breakthrough. It broke his heart to see Dustil finally accept what couldn't be changed, but that was part of the healing process. There was a lot they still didn't talk about: Revan; what Dustil had been doing on Coruscant for the last six months; what the future would bring—_my son has the Force, does he need training? Is he going to be all right? _But these things would come in time. The longer the days passed without Darth Revan's appearance, the more Carth wondered if it was only his own paranoia that made him so certain that she would come. D'Reev dismissed his fears when they spoke of them, and Korrie stopped asking about his mother. The child only smiled at him now, and asked polite questions about starships.

A part of him knew this was only the calm before the storm. A part of him knew all of these plans for a future were a lie. That part of him was making other plans. Plans he'd need, before the end.

_Before the end, I have to make sure that Dustil is safe._

The Senator had been a great comfort...and Korrie too. Finding a way to explain this to Korrie hadn't been easy, but in the end, it was all for the best. In some ways, the child made him see the woman Revan might have been if the Force and the Jedi and the war hadn't twisted her into the monster that she was.

Carth sighed. _Regret is too simple to explain what I feel._

Side by side, father and son walked through the rooms of their new home, seventy-three levels above groundside, with a view of the glittering skyline from every panoramic window. The building had high security, and a reputation for discretion. D'Reev assured him that no one would bother him here with the irritating demands of his newfound notoriety.

_Well, no one except the Senate, the Fleet, the Jedi Council and the Telosians. They all have the address._

The stack of mail sat on the floor, almost a meter high. Dustil bent down, peering at it curiously. Carth pulled him back.

"Has it been checked?" he asked the bothan.

"Checked?" the sentient said, shrugging his heavy shoulders.

"For bombs, explosives, poison..."

The bothan just looked at him. "Fleet uniform brought it and said, give to Carth Onasi."

Dustil pulled away from him, frowning in concentration. "I—think it's okay, Father," he said.

_Can he tell with the Force? Call me Dad,_ Carth thought to himself. _You call me Dad again sometimes now, but when you're angry or worried you call me Father._

_When you're angry you call her Revan._

_Old ghosts..._He would never be free of them.

His son was rifling through the stack carelessly. "Fan mail," he said. "From all over the galaxy." He opened one at random and Carth bit back his words of caution. One thing he'd learned, Dustil hated being told what to do. _I guess I was the same way at his age._

"Business proposition, invest in Byss mines. Byss makes, the galaxy takes..." Dustil shrugged and threw it down, opening another. "Marriage proposal, an elderly widow from Naboo." He laughed. It was good to hear him laugh...cautiously Carth sat down next to his son on the floor, and began opening letters himself.

They sat there for what seemed like hours before he reached one near the bottom of the pile, a print-out from an old systech printer, the paper folded and refolded before being sent priority express. Priority express wasn't cheap--unmanned ships hopping more hyperspace points than a living body could endure—all the way from...Carth's smile faded slightly—Deralia. The thin film crackled as he unfolded it.

_Dear Captain Onasi,_

_I feel like I know you, even though we've never met. I'm not sure how a great man like yourself could be mistaken, but our Polla would never be the Dark Lord of the Sith—and since your Revan is practically her, I'm sure that's a lie._

_You know, I can see why our Polla admires you so much. And Revan too. You looked very handsome in that awards ceremony—but you seem so sad._

_In any case, I'm writing to you about Beya Organa, my cousin several times removed. She served the Republic in the Mandalorian wars, and now is on trial for her life in Manaan. Bendowen, her father, is just beside himself with worry. We all are. _

_I may be an old woman, but I know terrible things happen in wartime. But after that, there should be peace and forgiveness. Perhaps you could use your influence to clear Beya's name? After all, she's an Organa—and you should realize that we Organas are quality people._

_I hope you forgive my informality—old women aren't much for ceremony. I've seen many things in my time but I've never seen anything so sad as what's gone wrong between you and Revan Starfire. Polla doesn't want me to write to you, but I know that my grandniece is still just upset at what those Jedi did with her memories. She takes it personally, you understand. But she's a good person, Polla is. And since your Revan is her, she must be a good person too._

_Please help poor Beya. She's a war hero just like you are. She deserves to be treated like one._

_Respectfully,_

_Mita Organa_

_(You can call me "Auntie Mita"—after all, we're practically family.)_

"Here's another one with pictures...twi'lek twins...hey they're in Coruscant too..." Dustil's laughter almost sounded real. _Kids forget, kids heal..._Carth reached out a hand and grabbed his son's shoulder for support.

"What's wrong, Dad?"

The bothan was long gone, and it was just the two of them, sitting in this echoing empty conapt.

_"You should meet my Auntie Mita," Polla said sleepily, moving closer to him. "She has to approve of you or you'll never get anywhere with me."_

_"Where else could I get _to_ with you?" Carth murmured softly in her ear. They were still half-drunk from the cantina on Tatooine. Something he thought dead and gone melted inside of his chest at her easy acceptance._

_Polla blinked slightly, waking up a little. Her green eyes slanted and she blushed. "This?" Polla waved her arms in an expansive gesture, taking in the disordered bunk, him, the pile of their clothes and weapons torn off in haste and strewn on the floor. "Naw. Auntie Mita always told me, _this_ isn't what matters. It's what you build with it. The sweat and the arguments and the love and the tears. They're what makes a marria—a relationship," she amended hastily, blushing._

_"You Auntie Mita sounds wise," Carth sat up and nuzzled her ear softly. The smell of her skin was sweeter than Tatooine wine._

_"She's a pain in the ass, but I miss her. What I said about love—you know I didn't mean...don't get any ideas, flyboy. I'm just drunk..."_

_"Shhh, beautiful, it's fine." He turned her around gently and kissed the tip of her nose. "How long have we been together now, on this crazy mission from hell?"_

_"More than four months," Polla said. "I feel like...like I've known you forever." She giggled. "Auntie Mita also always said all Organa women have a weakness for pilots...but...Bastila wouldn't approve."_

_"If I have to choose between Bastila's approval or your Auntie's, I think I'll go with the Deralian every time. They seem...to have a better perspective on these things."_

_She answered him with a kiss._

"Dad?"

His hand crumpled the fragile paper. _The letter has to be some kind of trick, some kind of trap. Polla Organa isn't real, she never was._

_I could find out...the trial on Manaan...Beya Organa...I could find out..._

Dustil took the paper from his hands and scanned it. The look on his son's face was closed and still. "I don't understand. Some old woman wants you to help her cousin? We're read a hundred letters like this, we've read ten letters written by people calling themselves 'Revan' or 'Darth Revan', there's a stack over there of letters from people claiming to be her long-lost relatives...it's just another novajob, what's the difference?"

His mouth was dry. "She might be real," Carth said finally.

"Revan?" Dustil's face was angry. "Of course she's _real_." He looked away. "I won't let her hurt you again. You—you do know that she's coming here, Father, don't you?"

"That--computer's message you told me about wanted us to think she's coming here," Carth chose his words carefully. One of his friends in the Fleet had given him access to the explosives depot, no questions asked. It was like living in two worlds: in one, he could pretend that she was gone forever; but in the other he was stockpiling enough weaponry to kill her. Most of it was stashed at Fleet HQ—he didn't want to involve D'Reev or Korrie—but they'd deliver it here later, when he asked.

_"I used thermal detonators on Malak. And without the verpine shielding I'd have been dead a dozen times over..." _Her voice haunted him again. It always would. He was a fool to think he could escape...

"Dustil, whatever happens, I promised your mother...I—I just want you to be safe. Do you understand?"

"I understand more than you do, Father." Dustil's voice was cold and distant. He dropped the letter and held out his hand. A blue ball of lightning flickered above it. "I understand what we have to do."

_Oh my son, no..._

Carth willed himself not to reach out to the boy, not to make any sudden movements. "No, Dustil," he said quietly.

"You planned on facing her alone." His son's expression did not change. "She killed Mission. Malak destroyed Telos...for _her. _Mekel keeps trying to get through to me—through the Force--but I won't let him. Not until she's here. Then he'll tell me where she is, because he thinks I'll help _her_, and we'll go there. We'll face her. And I won't let her hurt us, ever again."

_It was all lies, lies we told to each other, Dustil and I, this past week. Pretending we had a future together, pretending to enjoy things. But this--this is the truth. _

"Malak destroyed Telos," Carth echoed. He frowned. That wasn't right. No. "_She_ destroyed Telos. Revan."

_Promise me—_

Dustil shook his head. "No," he said in that dead voice. "Malak did it _for_ her. He called it a sacrifice. A sacrifice for her. Not her orders, but it doesn't matter..."

Carth didn't ask his son how he knew that. And it didn't matter. _War changes things, changes even my son._

_I fell in love with a woman named Polla Organa. It doesn't matter if she's real or not. Revan is real, and it is Revan that I must destroy._

"You're not getting involved in this, Dustil." He'd made arrangements. Captain Ekkumi asked no questions, when he'd asked her to witness the will, to let Dustil stay with her for a time.

His son's eyes were so dark. _Morgana's eyes_. "How old were the men who served under you, Father? The fighter pilots that didn't come back?"

"Eighteen, nineteen...you're not—you're still just a kid."

"I was sixteen last week, right before you came." Dustil closed his hand and the fire in his palm went out. "No one noticed, no one cared, but I was. You and Mom joined the TSF at seventeen...and...Mission was fourteen. Mission was fourteen and you took her with you."

"We shouldn't have--I was wrong to do that. I wish I--"

_"I'm not a kid, you old geezer!"_

"I'm not leaving you." Dustil looked at him, and suddenly his expression was eerily like Revan's. The same blank coldness and concentration. "I can make you forget about _that_ idea, Father." His jaw tightened. "I can _make_ you do anything I want. I'm good at it. Master Uthar said I had a gift."

"You will do as I say." Carth met his son's eyes squarely, unflinching. _Don't show any weakness, don't back down. The deck of the Star Forge and the alarms ringing. With a mechanic's certainty he knew they didn't have much time...Her Sith-damned face..._

"I'll do what I want." Dustil's voice was soft. "And what I want is to see her dead. Make her dead. Dead like Malak."

Carth made himself nod. "If that's what you want, son."

_Mission__ drugged you and stuffed you in a supply closet once. I was shocked, I only told her to make sure you left Korriban, but she was right to do it. I'll figure out a way to make that old trick work again. You're going to be safe, son. You and Korrie both._

Dustil had the Force. But he was not Revan. _Thank the stars, he can't tell if I lie._

XXX

**_--Two.... _**

XXX

_Revan_

Revan stared at her reflection in the mirror again, hesitating, before going back outside. Green eyes stared back at her from a pale face under a short cap of red hair. The Sith lines were gone, as if they had never been.

_Does that mean I've changed? _She smiled bitterly. She didn't feel changed. She gave her robes a final tug, and walked out of the 'fresher. Her companions were waiting on the former bridge. They'd been living on a vibroblade's edge, these last few days, waiting for Mission's transmission and trying to come up with a plan of what do if it never came. The docking codes were taken care of, and the first stages of the plan they'd mapped out should have been initiated. But until the computer contacted them, they had no way of knowing what waited for them on Coruscant.

"So nice of you to finally call, Mission. We've been wondering..." Oerin Lin's voice dripped ice. Even HK was here; already half-assembled with the cheap armor plating Zaalbar had welded on his frame to change his appearance. Her droid expressed his objections incessantly for days until Zaalbar switched off his voder. Now his red metal eyes tracked her movements. Revan was probably imagining it, but she almost thought those eyes looked imploring.

Mission wasn't using a hologram this time, only a stream of encrypted characters. The bridge's computer spat out a translation in toneless Basic.

"We've gotten the allies we needed, and the docking stuff is still good to go," the computer droned. "But there's a few snags. Sis? You here? You'd better sit down."

"And don't blow anything up, okay?" it added.

"Did you find Dustil?" Revan made herself walk calmly to the couch and sit between Canderous and Zaalbar, back straight, the perfect image of composure.

"D'Reev got Dustil...but...at least he's with Carth." Maybe Mission's own voice would have made those words cheerful. The computer just made them sound dead. Like a fact she didn't want to face.

Revan stared at her hands, and willed them not to turn into fists. _I will not win them back with fists or swords or blasters. I will win them back with D'Reev's own weapons. I will win them back on his grounds. But I will win them back._

She swallowed hard. "And my son?"

An image flickered, a red-haired boy's face streaked with tears. Revan frowned, there was a red shadow striping across his face, a red light... almost as if..."Pan out the image," she commanded.

There was a pause and then, almost as if it was reluctant, the image panned out. Malachor was bigger—_his face—my son's face now...my son...._

He was also holding onto Dustil Onasi for dear life and both of them were clutching at a Sith lightsaber. They appeared to be surrounded by several troops and some Jedi. There was a bright light fanning out on one side of the screen, it looked like an explosion.

_There is no emotion, there is peace. And that is a big fracking lie. _

"Mission?"

"Don't worry, sis, that's an old holo. From last week. They all got out okay. It was all that nerf-herder's fault..."

Canderous glared at the computer. "Did you have anything to do with this?"

"I was lucky to be able to patch into a security cam," it said, not really answering the question.

For the thousandth time in the last week, Revan wondered what she had done, reactivating the Rakatan computer and installing Mission Vao's holocron in its core. Cand' agreed with her—they'd needed the tactical advantage--but after viewing the holos in the HK's memory banks, he'd also agreed with her assessment. The thing could not be trusted.

_I don't dare talk to Zaal about it. I don't know what he thinks. But we need the computer—we need Mission. Without her—without it—_

Her, it...Revan wanted to believe it _was_ Mission, but...

_Later, later. _

"Sis, Mekel Jin says Dustil's really mad at you."

"Mekel Jin?" Revan frowned, reaching for a memory. _That boy in the tombs with Jorak Uln...he saved me...Carth was hurt badly in that fight...was Mekel one of the names Yuthura mentioned? Dustil went off with someone else, she said. Was it Mekel? It must have been._

_I could fill a hundred datapads with what I don't know..._

She'd tried to dream of Malak, but he and all of the other ghosts from her past eluded her. Strange. Her dreams now were usually Polla's. The Deralian sky and family. Racing a glider through a canyon, riding hessi. Piloting a rickety freighter through the Corellian spire. Polla's relatives giving her lectures about love. Polla's memories, false ones blurred with real. Carth. Carth saying he loved her. Carth's arms, and his face, stubble rough against her cheek. Carth calling her Polla. The way things had been between them before they knew the truth.

It was the only happy time in her life that she knew was truly hers.

_Funny. My happy memories involve an insane desperate quest, and Dark Jedi out to kill us...but—but I was happy. My friends...and Carth, they made me happy._

_Force, I miss you, Carth. Please come back to me._

The worst thing about watching him denounce her was that the things he said might be true. They were the things she'd worried about, had nightmares about ever since the _Leviathan. _Revan made herself watch the broadcasts, all of them. His face on a hundred networks across the galaxy. Always saying the same thing. Always hating her.

"Where is Mekel?" Revan asked finally, untangling her emotions with a sharp and brutal tug.

"He is unharmed," the computer said.

"Mekel's with Carth and Dustil?"

"No, Mekel's with me and our allies. The Jedi are after him. He hurt some Master...and I'd assume they're bright enough to link him to you. He's on our side, don't worry, sis."

"What do your projections show the Jedi Council will do?" Revan asked quietly.

"Your old self left the Order—I think--and Polla-Revan was never officially entered into the scrolls as a Padawan--or if she was, the records were destroyed on Dantooine. I don't think they have jurisdiction."

"You _think_? I'd prefer something more definitive."

"They've been in lots of meetings. From what I've been able to catch from local net gossip, they seem undecided. Split. Vrook's statements from Manaan are causing three hundred banthas' poo doo worth of flack."

Revan's mouth twitched. _Thank you, Uncle Vrook._

He'd gone on record, stating that she was not Darth Revan, could not be Darth Revan. He was representing the fallen Jedi and Yuthura on Manaan. _The wreckage I left behind in the Embassy. There was nothing else I could do. _Guilt pulled at her, and she banished it. _Focus._

Of course, then a transmission from Ziost had named her as one of the official leaders of the Sith Empire...

_Which is no Empire, only a few broken star systems with no fleet, and barely any infrastructure...but I guess that wouldn't matter, not to my enemies._

"Aside from our allies, are there any other worlds that might recognize my claim against D'Reev?"

_We don't need to win that battle, but we do need them to acknowledge it. Hell, I don't want to win--that would cause more trouble than wild hessi in an eridu patch._

"Possibly Onderon. You saved them in the Mandalorian Wars and didn't invade them later. They still have a statue of you in Iziz. On Onderon, remaining venerated with a public monument is no small achievement."

Revan looked at Canderous, frowning.

The Mandalorian coughed. "Considering your allies, I wouldn't count on Onderon."

"Candy might be right, sis. But Onderon does have trade agreements now with the Malachor system, so maybe it's okay."

_Only Mission could call him Candy and live. But that's not Mission. _Revan watched her friend's face. He was too much of a tactician to take the bait.

"Trade agreements..." the old warrior scowled, ignoring the computer. He shook his head slowly. "To be reduced to trade agreements..."

"Hoth?" Revan asked, almost hopefully.

"They deny you were born there. They claim they've never heard of you. Or rather, never heard of you until you became famous, first as a Jedi and then as the Dark Lord of the Sith."

"When they thought I was dead they—" her voice rose, indignant.

_Don't, don't bother. You don't remember Hoth and it doesn't remember you. Let it go._

"Things change," muttered Canderous. He patted her arm awkwardly. It was uncomfortable when he did that. He was trying to comfort her, but it felt wrong on both of them. She pulled away.

"My people will back your claim, Polla-Revan," Zaalbar growled. Revan leaned up against the wookiee, taking comfort in the clean smell of his fur. From the nearby chair, Oerin Lin made a face and rolled his eyes. She glared at him.

"One colony system and one interdicted protectorate," the computer stated tonelessly. "You'll need more than that. But geez, I can't exactly take a poll. This isn't easy. You'll need to convince them. I hope you can handle it."

"I sent out the invitations," it added. "As discussed, based on what I could dig up about who might be sympathetic to the Mandalorians--or easily influenced."

If it had been Mission's voice it might have sounded aggravated.

"Mission...are you—" Revan swallowed her words. _All right? Evil? Dangerous?_

"I need to talk to you."

"We are talking." Revan raised an eyebrow.

"Alone. It's personal."

"I have no secrets about my life from my friends. You can say whatever it is." _And if Lin teases me about it later, I'll knock him down again in combat practice._

"It's not about your life. Not everything is about you. Make them leave, switching to text feed."

Revan shrugged.

"We're going," Canderous said, lumbering to his feet. He glanced back at her, more concern etched in his granite face. "Careful," he said, and that one word was enough. Revan nodded, they'd talk later.

The others followed him out.

"Go ahead Mission, they've gone," Revan said quietly.

_I have to trust you on that, my consciousness is so small right now that I can't tell. I can't tap into the ship's sensors and still transmit._

The words were written in Rakatan.

"You're still taking no chances; none of them speak Rakatan, let alone read it."

Seeing the ancient script reminded her too much of the holo-vids of her younger self. _That thing manipulated me. It made me into something it wanted. _There'd been more of them, more young Revans meditating in front of an ancient console, but no more images of her son. In several places the vids cut out. _I told it to not show me anything harmful to sentient life and it obeyed. _In the last one she'd been wearing the mask. In the last one, according to the time stamp, she'd been Darth Revan. Almost all of the sound was gone. Whatever the computer had said was lost. Whatever teachings it imparted were gone. _Thank the Force._

The Rakatan symbols scrolled green across a black backdrop. _Dustil didn't take the news of Mission's death very well._

"Is this about Dustil? Is he all right? Y-you didn't harm him did you?"

_No. You don't trust me, do you, sis? Can I ask you a question?_

"Of course, Mission." Revan made her voice sound compassionate, although she wasn't sure why that should matter.

_Did you ever think, we're sort of alike, you and me?_

"You used to remind me of myself, as a tweener..." the lie was automatic, although Polla had thought that once, about Mission. But neither of them were Mission or Polla. "You're not Mission Vao." Revan said flatly. "Stop pretending. You're not Mission and—" _I'm not Polla._

There was a long silence, where the computer did not respond and Revan was forced to think.

"Oh," Revan said quietly, almost to herself.

_I didn't tell you, but I met one of the Genoharadan on Kashyyyk. His name was Rulan Prolik._

"The shapeshifter Hulas told me about...I never did find him." Her eyes narrowed. "Why didn't you tell me? Is there anything else you've concealed from me?"

_I planned to use him to help us. Hulas was unpredictable._

"_Was_ unpredictable?"

_He's dead. There was a broadcast yesterday from Manaan. Unnamed rodian found dead in 'fresher. Poison. Was definitely Hulas, they've changed the Genoharadan codes there already. I assume Rulan moved against him. The Genoharadan will not interfere, don't worry I paid them off._

"You paid them off...with what?" _We don't have any credits...do we? "_How much do you act outside of my command, Mission?" Revan rubbed her arms. Suddenly the room felt very cold.

_I help you. I help you, and Freyyr and Big Z. I help you just like I always did._

"Which you Mission? You the computer or you Mission Vao?"

_Both of us. To the Builder's installation you were a miracle, one born from a slave race with the strength to make the old ways right again. To Mission Vao you were a friend, a sister, maybe even a mother._

"I don't _want_ the old ways again." Revan ignored the rest of that. It hurt too much.

_You did, although you had no name for it, at first. I was built to serve one such as you, part of me. And the rest of me was Mission.... Anyways, sis,Rulan left. He couldn't move against D'Reev so the best I could do was the non-interference thing, and it was expensive, but it's fine. But before he left we had this talk. The Genoharadan are funny, Polla-Revan. They don't believe in much, except this thing they call luck, but they send all their profits to these religious orders across the galaxy. He asked me if I believed in the existence of a soul._

"A soul."

_The Jedi would call it part of the Force or something. But here's the question he wouldn't answer. If I had a soul, would it reside in my sentient core or in my memories of being Mission Vao?_

"I don't..." _My sentient computer wants to discuss to discuss theology..._ "You said to me once, if I didn't remember being Revan, it was as if I wasn't Revan." Her voice was empty, as her mind made the inevitable conclusions.

There was a long silence.

"I can see why you ask if we are alike."

_Are we?_

Revan closed her eyes.

"I guess we are."

It was a long time before she dared open them again and see Mission's response. What she read made the room even colder.

_Mekel wears a collar with a subvoder so we can talk. There's an explosive charge on it that I didn't tell him about. Short-range, but it would work. D'Reev wants him now too. I'm not sure why, maybe additional leverage on Dustil. I think Mekel could get close to D'Reev. Close enough and then I could detonate the charge. I could solve all of our problems that way, Polla-Revan. Easy. Your claim would be undisputed. It's not easy to get close to D'Reev, but I have the key. And Mekel trusts me. He likes me. He considers me a friend._

Her mouth was dry. "Malachor wouldn't be safe with D'Reev dead. The other Senate families..."

_He would be if your initial claim is accepted. If we get that far, you could protect Malachor. If we get that far, D'Reev will be the only obstacle._

"Are you telling me this because you're going to do it, or because you want my permission?"

_I want your advice. Mekel is nice to me. He doesn't treat me like a thing._

"He's your friend. You don't sacrifice friends."

_Revan did. You did. Jolee. Juhani. Bastila. And me._

"No. I'm not—" her voice broke and she stared at her hands. "I understand, Mission."

_I thought you might. I just wanted to talk about it with someone that might understand._

"If I order you not to do this..."

_Are you ordering me not to do this? _If the text had Mission's voice maybe it would sound hopeful. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

Revan took a deep breath. "Not yet. But I—might. I command you not to act without my direct order. Is that understood?"

_About Mekel, okay,_ the computer qualified.

"About Mekel, yes," Revan agreed. She stared at her hands, half-expecting to see blood on them. _This is what being a leader means. Making the decisions that no one else wants to make. _

_Thanks for listening, sis._

"Mission..."

_Sheesh, stop worrying, everything will be okay! I feel much better._

"Great," Revan muttered. _My evil Rakatan computer feels much better. I don't..._

XXX

**_--One..._**

XXX

_Malachi D'Reev_

"Hulas is no longer with us. I am your new contact, Senator."

The pink-skinned zeltron smiled at him seductively, managing to convey the typical pheronomic attributes of her species even across light-years of encoded FTL transmission.

Malachi D'Reev frowned. _An irritating development._ "I assume you have Hulas' notes regarding our contract?" _Another power struggle among the Genoharadan. Well no matter, as long as they still have the information I need._

"Hulas told me everything, before his—retirement. You can call me Chax. I believe I do have something here about you..." She made a show of looking through the stacks of datapads in front of her, but D'Reev wasn't fooled.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, tapping his fingers against the cold stone of his desk.

She raised a delicate black eyebrow and her red-irised eyes widened in protest. "Certainly not! Only you must understand, Hulas left his affairs in some disorder. We're still trying to clear up the loose ends."

"I need to know the time and the docking bay that my—package will be arriving."

He planned to send a squad of CoruSec civilian guards to intercept her, with orders to shoot to kill. He didn't expect them to succeed, but the resulting body count would only serve to improve his cause. _Darth Revan reborn. _And if they did manage to kill her...well...he was hoping for a more iniquitous end, but an end was an end. Hulas had been stringing him along regarding the details for weeks, but the time was soon. Tomorrow, if the original estimation was correct.

Onasi and his son were safely ensconced in their new home. He'd had no luck finding the Jin boy, but Mekel Jin was only a curiosity, of no strategic importance now that Dustil was firmly entrenched in the right camp. A happy surprise, the boy's change of heart. Mission Vao's death had served a noble purpose. _I almost want to thank you, Revan Starfire, for making that so easy. _The conversation between the Onasis the morning after their arrival marked a turning point with Dustil. The Senator was very pleased. Vengeance was such a predictable tool. And the boy could be useful to him later...if he survived.

And Malachor...his heir seemed restless, but silent. There had been no more signs of rebellious behavior. He seemed to accept his mother's treachery, at least outwardly. The boy spent a lot of time in his room, when he wasn't at school.

"I need to know the time and the docking bay," D'Reev repeated.

"Ah yes." The assassin raised a six-fingered hand to her heavy black hair and shook it out slowly. "Coruscant. Port 23, docking bay 12. Groundside station. Estimated arrival time: fourteen hundred hours, thirty minutes, Coruscant standard. The name of the ship is the _Girl From Hoth." _The zeltron sighed. "However, I must inform you my organization's involvement is now concluded. The Genoharadan can be of no further assistance. Personally...I wish you luck. My homeworld was devastated in the recent conflicts...but professionally..." The smile reappeared, enticing and apologetic. "Professionally, my hands are tied. Orders, you understand."

"Has something changed?" D'Reev pondered the implications. He didn't expect to need the Genoharadan again. Subtlety was not what he required. But Hulas _had_ offered further assistance for an increased fee at the time of their original negotiation, should it become necessary.

"With new management, things always change," the zeltron replied crisply. "I do wish you luck."

D'Reev nodded. _The Genoharadan are but one tool of many. As long as they cannot act against me, they are no matter. _And they could not. His original contract was very specific.

"End transmit." D'Reev clapped his hands and the zeltron vanished. The room fell silent. Silent except for the sound of an indrawn breath, and the pad of feet moving towards the door.

D'Reev tensed and spoke quickly.

"Defensive. Activate stasis." At his command the fields activated, disrupting the stealth generator and encasing its wearer in a field of red light. The small figure jerked and then froze, as the field stopped its movement.

"Grandson." The Senator breathed a sigh of relief.

_Initiative, my heir shows initiative...but why? Surely he can't still believe in his mother..._Captain Onasi's 'private' talks with the boy had been gut-wrenchingly emotional, and, the Senator had assumed, conclusive.The old man got up from his desk slowly and circled his heir, frowning. The child's face was pale and terrified under the veil of red, his hands clenched into small fists.

"Defensive. Release stasis." The field vanished and the boy fell to the ground, gasping for breath. Senator D'Reev expected tears and protestations, but the child was eerily silent.

"Explain yourself, Malachor."

"Are you going to kill her?" His grandson got to his feet slowly. The terror was gone, replaced by an expressionless mask the Senator knew only too well. There was much of Malak in the boy's features, but that expression was entirely _hers. _And where had he gotten a stealth belt? D'Reev frowned, looking at the simple gray band around Malachor's waist. It was a small unit, and oddly familiar.

"She will not hurt us again." He watched the child's face carefully.

The boy bit his lip and his chin trembled, the reserve cracking. The gray eyes widened. "I-I j-just wanted to know...what...was gonna happen. I'm sorry, Grandfather!" Small arms locked around his waist and the boy buried his face in the old man's robes sobbing. "You'll keep us safe from her?"

He ignored the emotional outburst, hands moving down to examine the stealth generator more closely. He unsnapped the catch at the back and pulled away from Malachor, holding the belt up in front of him. It was familiar, too familiar. Long ago, he'd had it constructed to teach his son some of the games the Senate families played.

"Where did you get this?"

The child wiped his eyes, sniffling through a reddened nose. "I f-found it..."

"Where?"

The boy looked at the floor. "I-in the vaults."

_He broke into the family vaults? Initiative..._The old man was almost pleased.

"Is there anything else you wish to tell me, Malachor?"

The boy started crying again, his frame shaking with the tears. "I'm s-scared," he whispered. "Wh-what if she comes here and wants to hurt me?"

"She has no memory of you, Malachor. And I will not let her hurt you."

"It's gonna be tomorrow?" the child's voice was a frightened squeak.

"Going to be tomorrow. Yes, I think so."

"I should stay home from school. We should hide, Grandfather. Stay here and hide so she c-can't get us..."

D'Reev had considered that, but it was important to keep up appearances. And his grandson must learn not to show fear, even if the emotion itself was completely understandable. "No." He folded his arms and looked down at the boy sternly. "You will go to school. I will go to work. Don't worry, I've taken measures to contain her." He made his voice sound gentle. "I will not let her hurt you, Malachor. Not again."

The boy's head nodded slightly, and he rubbed his hands into his eyes, face twisting.

_The child is overly-emotional, just like his father, before I had the Jedi pound it out of him...or was he? Was that calculation in the boy's eyes? Subterfuge? No, surely not. He may be a D'Reev, but he's only eight years old. Almost nine...we should do something for his birthday. Show him some kindness. Win back his love. _The child had been altogether too quiet lately.

"When this is over, perhaps you and I will take a vacation. Visit our estates on Correllia VII. Would you like that, Korrie?"

"Y-yes..."

"Go to your room, now. I have work to do. We'll speak more at dinner."

Malachor nodded again and walked away. His steps were hesitant, as if he wanted to run, but was afraid to. D'Reev watched his grandson leave, still wondering. He was almost tempted to keep the boy home tomorrow...just in case...

"Get me the Eglatine Institute, Director Chalmers."

Almost instantly the man's face appeared. Not surprising, he was paid well to be at the Senate families' beck and call.

"Senator, it is an honor..."

"Triple the security around my heir tomorrow. And the entrances to the Institute."

"Our defenses are impregnable...as you know, Senator...."

_He wants compensation. _Some games were always the same.

"Send me the bill."

The man nodded, his hesitation gone. "Certainly, Senator D'Reev."

XXX

**_Boom_**

XXX

The small ship coded in the Coruscanti landing registry as _The Girl From Hoth _landed at port 23, docking bay 12, groundside at precisely fourteen hundred hours, thirty minutes, local standard time.

Almost immediately, there was chaos.

XXX

A/N

Three, two, one, boom. Thanks again as always. You all are too kind. Hope had good holidays...

First off, trillions of thanks for **ether**'s help with this. As always, you far above and beyond the call of betaing. And I thought the last section was long...this turned out much much longer... Took your advice on the section you mentioned...I know I introduced some errors in previous chapter after your edit, and probably here as well, as there's even more rewriting. Gah...

(Note for all, in previous chapter, "Master Krell" should read "Master Klee". There is no Master Krell, although I think there's a Darth Krell, out there somewhere...hm, must add Darth Krell to outline. Oh yes, and I made an outline! About time...Also note: forgive me for any errors in my 'history' section of this chapter. I did actually read the dark horse comics—two of them—hm they aren't very good...but that's an aside. Many points of the plot bothered me...but I digress...)

**Tim Radley**Action figures and Nomi Sunrider cartoons. There is much to be suggested in actual Star Wars merchandise in an imaginary world...glad you liked, was something I agonized slightly over as being a bit too over the top. My characterization of Zaalbar owes quite a bit to Ether's characterization of Zaal, although if I'd thought of it, I would have mentioned he was hungry too. They have, after all been living on jerky for three weeks...which was something I kept meaning to bring up...Glad you liked Carth, because that really hard to write. He is moving towards less gut-wrenching, but to get there, he had to finish being gut-wrenching...

**Rose7 **Was trying with Malachor, thanks for the compliment. I don't hang out with eight year-olds much at the moment, so I keep trying to remember what it was like to be eight...note about Malachor. I couldn't see him knowing how to spell "Civil"—hence the "Jedi Sivil War"—kinda dumb, but there it is, lol. And wanted to tell you, doh! Replayed game a little last night and Mekel really does have a patrician accent doesn't he? Hm, going to have to come up with something about that...Also forgive me for the There is no emotion there is peace. And that is a big fracking lie, line. I think was channeling you (although you would have written it different, there's that reworking of the jedi code thing you do sooo well...). Love your fiction.

**snackfiend101**As per email, lol. I started thinking, one real problem with serial fiction is the way it's read. Very hard to keep track of what someone hinted at, or stated in one paragraph six chapters ago...that you read three months ago...nature of the beast really. It's possible that serial fiction doesn't lend itself to really convoluted plots. Unfortunately, this is one...for the rest of yea, (in case anyone else wondered), no Mekel and Malak are not related. (I'm not sayin I never thought about making them be related, after all, what's more long-lost family in this fiction full of it already...but...eh.) Mekel did think highly of Darth Malak though. Which should certainly have an impact. You know, on stuff...Speaking of convoluted, this chapter sets a lot of things up. There are about a million hints (maybe I shouldn't even call them hints—more like, facts-that-will-become-important in it. You are forewarned...but given the nature of serial fict I will prob mention them again too.)

**Prisoner **Well you remember how pleased I was to find out about the Trandoshan and Wookiee feud thing...heh. Poor Carth...I had so much trouble beginning this section because Carth was in such a bad place. I think I have moved him into a more "action" role—finally—phew. Although his actions may be misguided, at least it's better than moping. Writing Carth and Dustil like this was very difficult, but I couldn't see it going any other way. Original plans had Dustil a lot less...anti-Revan, but...how else could he react? And in the interest of the plot moving along, quite a lot of their character development in between parts one and two of this happens offscreen. I hope it is obvious what they'd have said, it was pretty much all that they already said...more insight on that will come of course, with another Dustil pov...

**Firera **Getting darker? Heh. Senator jealous of Malak for the Force...hm, ya know...he might be...although his motivation is complicated. I'd think that would be part of it though...D'Reev thinks of the Force as a tool, and not a very reliable one. Estimated number of chapters? No clue. But I made an outline! I know how it's all (supposed to) end. At least another ten, maybe? Working on blocking it all out now. And everything is subject to change. Yes, I think so about the Durian. Probably?

**xenzen **Hey I saved that timeline in my drafts folder and it erased itself. Grr, now I wish I had emailed it to you. Timelines make my head hurt. I am worse with numbers than Nico Senvi...She married Malak a few weeks before Malachor's birth, so...no, around 21-22 yes. 28 and 38 at time of Star Forge...this is at least a year after that began...or something. My (arbitrary?) decision that most space voyages take weeks is going to cause me huge headaches, but oh well. Bushed/Brushed grrr. Argh. (Cries I edited that chapter and missed that?) I actually sort of wish I had made her a bit older. I always kind of pictured Revan and Malak at about 25 when they fought in the Mandie wars, at least...hm. half-brick inna sock method of writing is a great phrase. And very true. We can agree to disagree about capitalization. I concede, "force" looks dumb not capitalized. And there are some cases...like, Iridonian would be a person from Iridonia, yes. But zabrak would be a race...maybe the best thing to do would be to also capitalize "Human"—because that's really where I just don't understand....I've thought about this waaaay too much.

**ether-fanfic **Mucho thanks again. (See comment about "Sivil" above for why not changed...) Thanks especially for turning this around so fast, reading two versions, and giving me feedback that made me change stuff I didn't realize wasn't clear, and stop worrying about stuff that was fine. Your insights help a ton and your rewordings are always dead-on :) and your sense of humor is priceless.

**Lunatic Pandora **Hm, that is true, hers was double-bladed. I confess, I am still not sure what exactly happened to Dustil's lightsaber either...Maybe one of the Jedi picked it up?

Okay, and next up, Revan & Co. land on Coruscant. More insights into Mandalorian life, and a few more cameos from KoTR1, as well as some original minor characters we have met before...and a few new ones. Probably some more insight on what exactly the Jedi are thinking as well...(at least some of them.) In general, despite all of this, it should be a lot more of a narrative, action-packed chapter...in a linear fashion...crossing fingers.


	17. The Lady of Situations

**A/N: **revised...if I add more A/N I fear this will collapse like a neutron star. It's uh, kinda long. Thanks all, as always and many many kudos to Ether...it's...did I mention long?

XXX

**Chapter 17 / The Lady of Situations**

XXX

_The small ship coded in the Coruscanti landing registry as The Girl From Hoth landed at port 23, docking bay 12, groundside at precisely fourteen hundred hours, thirty minutes, local standard time._

_Almost immediately, there was chaos._

XXX

13:00 CGST (Coruscanti Galactic Standard Time)

_Thalia May_

Thalia trotted behind Master Jopheena, trying to keep up with the old woman's long strides. Periodically, the Jedi would stop and wait for her with a serene face that belied the lines of tension in every part of her body. They did not speak; Jopheena had warned her to stay quiet. Thalia wasn't sure exactly what was going on--ever since that hisspat Mekel had nearly killed Master Iridel she'd been running on autopilot to hide her grief--but then this morning Jopheena had summoned her. They sat in the Jedi Master's meditation room for hours, while the woman scanned the nets. Then suddenly she'd jumped to her feet and told Thalia to follow her, stay close, and most importantly, not ask any questions.

The last part was easy. In some parts of the galaxy, not asking questions was a given.

They were almost to the Jedi Temple's private hangar when Master Quatra's acidic voice called out behind them.

"Jopheena, where are you taking the Padawan?"

"To feed the poor," Master Jopheena said. Thalia thought she was probably lying about that, but she did it very well.

Quatra's slanted eyes narrowed. "That one is not to leave the Temple today. Nor are you. _You know_ she is very close."

Jopheena chuckled. "Even _she_ cannot stop the world from turning, Quatra. The people in the sublevels starve. They suffer. I will not cease my work to cower here with the rest of you...and Thalia needs to learn a valuable lesson. She still holds much anger for Mekel Jin. I want to show her more of the world that he came from. In such lessons comes understanding and compassion."

"Does Iridel know you're taking her Padawan?"

"Of course," Jopheena spread out her hands. "Would you like to come with us Quatra? We could use your strength with the healing..."

Master Quatra looked uncertain, suddenly. "I—would--but--I am not as brave as you, Jopheena. I will stay here and see what comes...letting go of hate is never easy, Padawan Thalia. I have had...my own troubles with that."

Thalia looked at the floor. _That was Juhani the Cathar's Master. Revan killed Juhani. Iridel said Quatra felt the death and didn't speak for days._ _But...she blames herself somehow. _The guilt was like a mist, when she looked to see it, half-blinding the woman's senses to all else.

_And that is fortunate, at the moment, however sad it may be. A_ voice cut into her thoughts. _Now move faster, Thalia. Jopheena does not have time to wait for Padawans who fall behind._

Master Israel's voice in her head startled her. _M-master? _Already Jopheena was moving again. Thalia broke into a run to keep up. They reached the hangar where a number of ships waited. Jopheena headed straight for a planetside cruiser, a small one, and pulled the hatch down with practiced ease. Still not speaking, she nodded at Thalia.

_Master? _If Master Iridel had further wisdom, she did not share it.

They were speeding down one of the orbital freeways, heading down towards the groundside ports when Thalia finally dared to ask. "We're not really going to feed the poor, are we?"

"It would be a good lesson for you, Thalia May. But no, we are not." Jopheena laughed suddenly, a hearty burst of laughter that seemed so inappropriate coming from her lined face that Thalia nearly jumped out of her skin. "Revan Starfire's ship is landing today. We're going to meet it."

"You felt her, through the Force?" _So it's today..._ It was the day Thalia had been expecting for weeks, the day that made her wake up screaming with nightmares no matter how much she meditated. She'd felt the woman's fall to darkness as if it were happening to her. Blood on the sand, and rage and hate more powerful than anything her old Sith Masters ever had. She'd expected to feel Revan through the Force when the Dark Lord landed on Coruscant. But Thalia felt nothing, the Force around them was still and calm, like a windless sea.

Jopheena shook her head. "I expected to, but she's learned something. The Jedi Knight that Revan was shone through the Force like a sun. She never had to hide her presence. I doubt it ever occurred to her to do so. But now...I've had to use more commonplace methods to track her. I have friends in the CoruSec civilian guard. A squad has been sent to a certain port, a certain docking bay...and where the orders came from tell me much. Do not rely on the Force for everything, Thalia May. When you need it most, it will fail you."

"We're going to help them take her into custody?" Thalia shivered. She remembered standing off against the woman and her companions in the shryack caves with 'Phile and Odoo. The woman's polite concern had been completely at odds with the whorl of dark energy that surrounded her. _I don't want to face that again. I can't fight against that. She's too strong, too powerful. Too terrifying._

Jopheena shook her head. "I hope it will not come to a confrontation, Padawan, for your sake and mine. But Vrook thinks...well, no matter. We're going to meet her ship to save lives. The CoruSec guards have orders to shoot to kill. We must not let that happen. The orders would be a death sentence--for the guards. Indeed, I believe that is the intent."

"Why me?"

_I asked her to bring you, Padawan. You will be my eyes. Consider it another lesson._

Iridel's voice was like a dry whisper in her thoughts.

Thalia wasn't sure what lesson this could be, but she didn't dare ask more questions. She'd asked enough as it was. Not asking questions was as easy as breathing for a child of Ziost, trained in Dreshdae.

XXX

14:00 CGST

Captain Erik Qan'Jin, Coruscant Civilian Guard

The docking bay was still empty, and Captain Erik Qan'Jin tried to compose himself and think of something he could say to his squad before the end. Again he cursed the chain of events that led to this moment. Y_ou were worried about being shipped off to the Outer Rim, or a prison colony. But this...now, simply the loss of a home and a world seem like luxuries. _He had no illusions. Whatever was going to land in this docking bay was meant to be their deaths. _They'll send me to sub-level 60 in a Captain's Bars; my wife will get a Captain's pension. Only fifty credits more than a Commander's wife would get. _

Half of the troops behind him still didn't understand. Cally had her usual moonstruck look, fidgeting importantly with the sights of her rifle. His eyes met a few of the others, those that remembered things as they'd been once before, and knew whose path they'd crossed that day. Liko gave him a resigned nod, his head tails curled tightly around his neck, and his jaw set for action.

"Our orders," Captain Qan'Jin began, "are to shoot whatever comes off that ship. To kill. I just want to let you all know that it's an honor working with you, and I'm proud, very proud of each and every one of you." He paused. "Are there any questions?"

If he didn't look at her, maybe she'd get the hint.

"Sir, yes sir. I have a question, sir."

_Of course not._

"Shut up, Cally," Liko muttered, but even his automatic response seemed half-hearted.

"Permission to speak, sir?" She glared at the green twi'lek and then looked up the Captain.

"Go ahead, Cally." Suddenly Erik was tired of all this formality. He relaxed his shoulders, trying to roll the tension out of his neck kink by kink.

"Sir, we're all good shots. We have good weapons. We were sent here by the Republic to do a job. Why are you all so certain that we'll fail?"

"Since we're about to die anyways, sir. I'd like to answer that question. Permission?" Liko stepped forward, and saluted him.

"Granted. Tell her Liko." Erik's stomach rumbled and he felt queasy. _The bantha bun I had for breakfast...and the caffa..._

_"The Girl From Hoth _is entering final docking sequence_," _chimed the docking computer. _"_Five minutes to atmospheric entry, ten to landing."The blast doors in front of them rumbled close, sealing with an ominous clang.

"Give her the short version," Erik sighed. A sharp pain stabbed through his gut. _Nerves or breakfast, it doesn't matter. There's no time left, tell my wife I love her very much, she knows..._

"That day in the Library, that kid we found was Revan and Malak's son," Liko began, "and Malachi D'Reev's heir. You do understand one of those facts might be a closely guarded secret?"

A frown sketched across her simple Dantooine farm girl features. "No," Cally said. "It's not the kid's fault who his parents are..."

"His _grandfather_ is a very powerful man, you've heard of him, right?"

"Sure," Cally shrugged. "But Senators don't send people to their deaths..." her voice trailed off. Green she was, but they'd been on Eg duty for six months now. "...not without really good reasons! It's not like we'd betray him or anything...either of them! I mean, we all got promotions! Why would they kill us?"

Liko rolled his eyes. "Since we're about to die I'd also like to say that I've always found your body attractive, Lieutenant Cally Lee. But not your mind."

"No one will die here," said a voice behind them. _"Put down your weapons."_

XXX

14:15 CGST

_Revan_

"Are you ready? It's almost time."

"Yes."

The robe was too short and tight across the shoulders, loose across the chest, tailored for a woman built to a different measure. The Star Forge robes were out of the question, and they'd needed the larger ones for the men. Their supplies included many weapons, but not much armor due to its bulk. The two sets of Mandalorian battle armor and Lin's own that they'd had were already reassembled. Revan adjusted the robe again, pulling the hood over her face. Between the hood and the bulky visor that hid her features she felt half-blind. She buckled her own saber to the belt, shivering a little as her fingers brushed its long hilt.

_On Kashyyyk I vowed never to use it again. On Manaan I only had to carry it into the Sith Embassy. May this be the same. I don't want to use it. I don't want to use it ever again for anything more than a prop. _

"Now, Revan?" Oerin Lin was being frighteningly solicitous, which meant that he was furious. She'd learned to read him some, over the past few weeks. There was an old scorch mark on the beige robe that he wore. The sight of it made her dizzy.

Canderous cleared his throat and stubbed out the cigarra he'd been smoking on the corusteel floor. "It's time."

There was something heavy in the pocket of Bastila's old robe. Revan pulled it out.

The holocron sparkled, bright as brittle tears.

XXX

14:20 CGST

_Helena Shan_

"I didn't think you'd come." She took another drink, tension easing slightly as the comforting harshness burned the back of her throat. "I didn't think you'd care, about a woman's problems, or a woman's grief. You must be very busy now; I can't turn on the vids without seeing your picture everywhere."

The man slipped onto the bar stool next to her, and sat down, hands resting uselessly on its scarred surface. Well-shaped hands that were made for action, not for this. "You were ill. Are you better now?" He looked at her, and she tried not to think about what he'd see. Her once-beautiful face, ravaged by the years, too-bright suns, the stims, the cigarras and the drink. She looked at his hands. They were strong capable hands. Square-fingered, and neatly kempt. His life would be like that too. You could tell a great deal about a man by looking at his hands. She really wasn't much older than he was...perhaps five years, perhaps seven. She'd been very young when her daughter was born. Too young really, for all of that responsibility.

"My health has always been poor," she said finally. "And my nerves are very bad."

"Juma won't help with that," the man muttered, signaling to the bartender.

He ordered Degoban whiskey and drank it down fast.

"I didn't think you'd come," she repeated. "You never really liked my daughter, did you?"

His voice caught. "It wasn't--I liked her. She was...she was a good person. We were friends."

"But not lovers. Have you ever thought, you picked the wrong woman to save that day? Perhaps you just picked the wrong woman to love?"

The muscles in his jaw twitched underneath his visor, but he did not respond.

Helena Shan took another sip of juma.

"What is it that you need?" he asked her. His assured voice suddenly roughened with a touching vulnerability. She couldn't see much of his face through the dark ferraglass, but she suspected his eyes would be glistening. They were brown eyes, she remembered. How sweet, she'd made a war hero cry. "Is it credits? Doctors? Just a place to go? Or just more juma to finish killing yourself?" He brought his fist angrily down on the bar and several patrons around them jumped. "Whatever you want, Helena. I owe it to you. I owe it to Bastila."

"I want to know what happened to her," she said quietly, finally, when it seemed like his rant was finished.

"She died," the pilot whispered. "She died."

"Did you think she was attractive? When she was young, people used to say she looked just like me, I was quite a beauty in my youth...but she threw all that advantage away when she joined the Jedi. Did you ever think about her, watch her, notice her? I remember that woman; she was a stick next to Bastie. Loud and careless and uncouth. I don't know what you--I don't know why..." It was terribly awkward, but she found that she was crying suddenly. The dimly lit cantina room blurred and she rummaged through her purse for her handkerchief. When she pulled it out a few stims fell on the floor and rolled under the bar. The man got up hastily and fished for them. Helena Shan watched him, delicately dabbing the corners of her eyes with the handkerchief.

He got up slowly, eyeing the stim caps rolling in his hand. Wordlessly he handed them back.

"You don't own the market on grief." His words were accusing. "Your loss is terrible, Helena Shan, and I'll help you any way that I can, but what you're doing now is worse. Do you think Bastila would want to see you like this?"

"It's how she'd remember me best," Helena Shan said. The words were bitter in her mouth, but she was used to that.

_"Nine hells...._When I think of a world that took a mother like Morgana and left you alive."

Helena Shan took another sip of juma. As always, it helped with her nerves. Her nerves were very bad. The light above the bar was one of the old ones, Byss ironwork. She blinked at it blurrily. Byss had been a lovely planet to visit. She and her husband had quite enjoyed their time there, although the child had complained often. It was shortly after that that they'd sent her away to school...

When she looked at the barstool next to her again, it was empty. The pilot had gone.

XXX

_14:29 CGST_

_Iggis the Hutt_

_The Girl From Hoth _was many things. Iggis leased it for transport from its rightful owners, an organization so shadowy that he dared not say its name out loud, although in his line of work he couldn't help but know it. But its latest cargo, if the Underground scientists that hired him could be believed, would simultaneously save the galaxy from the crippling kolto shortage _and_ make him a very rich Hutt. When he'd been little more than a tad swimming in the sunken city marshes of Nal Hutta, Iggis had always hoped for a great destiny. Now, it was in his grasp.

The landing bays around them bustled with activity. Iggis pushed the levers to move his grav lift into third gear, and patted his latest acquisition, a young twi'lek he'd named Mara, on the head. Obediently, she settled herself up against him on the lift.

A group of portside guards and two robed figures stood at the blast doors that would remain closed until the _Girl's _jets cooled. He frowned at the sight of them. Customs could be trouble, and Hulas had promised him weeks ago that there would be no trouble. Their captain appeared to be arguing with one of the robes--his eyesight wasn't the best but as he got closer he could see--_Jedi. _And—actually, the guards didn't look like customs guards at all. A CoruSec civilian squad. _Why would they be here?_

Iggis tapped the commands on his console to fire if provoked and set up the shield. Mara drew hastily closer to him, her soft skin smooth on his hide. She learned quickly. In his line of work, there was often trouble.

XXX

_14:29 CGST_

_Mekel Jin_

_--Keep that robe over your head. And stop fidgeting.--_

"I am _not_ fidgeting," Mekel hissed.

Millifar chuckled and he blushed, which was not an improvement. "Talking to your gods again, barbarian? The voices in your head?"

"Leave me alone," Mekel muttered, to both of them. Dustil's absence still ached like a pulled tooth, a phantom pain that should have been long gone.

"Your master will reward you well, for bringing us the news, yes?" The blonde Mandalorian grinned at him, making dimples in both sides of her cheeks. "It's an auspicious day for the Mandalore's arrival, I can't wait to meet him...I hear he's unmarried..."

"It isn't seemly to discuss your bridal prospects with a man outside your clan, Millifar." Her mother Gwenarius shot them both an amused look.

"Mekel's not really a man, Mother...he's one of the Lin slaves..."

_--Don't open your mouth and say anything, Mekel Jin. Just...don't.--_

Gwenarius Ordo broke into a stream of incomprehensible Mandalorian and her daughter replied in kind. Both of them started laughing, laughter echoed by Mission's collar grating on his spine. Mekel wondered again why he'd insisted on coming along for the ride. They hadn't wanted him to, Mission hadn't wanted him to, but he'd been stubborn. Behind him, the three half-blooded warriors, (half-blooded meant they'd only killed in the battle of sand--whatever that meant--not that they were half-Mandalorian--and how amused everyone had been when he'd made _that_ gaffe two nights ago...), tramped steadily in full regalia, bristling with weapons. No one was expecting a fight, but the general mood seemed to be that battle wouldn't be unwelcome.

_--You stupid nerf-eating idiot boy.--_

"Hey! What was that for?"

_--What was what for?--_

"That insult," Mekel whispered. The collar thrummed against the back of his neck.

­_Do I need a reason?--_

"Generally, not, Blue..."

He'd started calling her Blue. It was what Dustil called her. And it was safer than calling her by name. Although rationally Mekel knew he was talking to a computer, Mission was like no computer he'd ever known. Except for a few errands she'd sent him on, they'd been laying low these past days—surrounded by a bunch of Mandalorian mercs who called themselves an embassy and constantly chattered in a language that he couldn't understand. Mission was his only link to the outside world. And once she'd been a street kid too. There were realities she understood that Dustil never really had.

­_Sheesh, this is important Mekel Jin, pay attention please. And don't die. If they start fighting or something just run away, ok?—_

"Sweet of you to care." Mission didn't answer. Probably caught up in whatever else she was doing. She hadn't clued him on the big plan, but he'd picked up pieces here and there. Revan was coming. For the kid and her lover and Dustil. The mercs seemed to be expecting something quite different, some kind of leader—or savior, depending on which one you talked to. They'd clued in pretty quickly that he didn't understand the Mandalorian words he'd said to them, and after that they stopped even trying to explain. Whatever the plan was, it was better than rotting in the underground hiding out from the Jedi—and someone had to get Dustil out of this mess. Although Mekel didn't want to admit it to himself, he wanted to see the kid too. Malachor. He wanted to see the kid because—_because I want to see Him._

They reached the docking bay. Docking bay 10, port 23. The blast doors were still closed, although the ship they'd come to meet had docked ten minutes ago.

XXX

14:30

Captain Erik Qan'Jin, Coruscant Civilian Guard

The blast doors to port 23, docking bay 12 slid open. The ship's ramp was already down and a red-haired figure emerged wearing a long black robe. She was accompanied by what appeared to be some kind of protocol droid. One look at her and Captain Erik knew with sad certainty what his fate was to be. The Jedi could protest all that they liked, but this was _her. _And he and his men would be her first sacrifice of Republic blood on Coruscanti soil.

_Unless we kill her first...it was her. Revan Starfire. This would be a good way to die._

He raised his rifle and closed his eyes.

_Tell my wife I love her very much..._

_"No. Put down your weapons." _He heard the clatter of their rifles and blasters falling to the ground around him, as his men were caught again in the old witch's spell.

He'd been Special Forces once, in the Mandalorian Wars, before insubordination cost him a few ranks and a grenade landed him a desk job. Working around Jedi—especially there towards the end when all the Jedi went mad—there were things you learned to do. If you had a talent for it—and he did—and if you were expecting it—and he was--you could resist those mind tricks they played. It had been a long time since that skill had done any good, but it did now.

He had her in his sights. All it would take was one shot.

"Put it down, Captain." The old Jedi's voice was softer now. A request, not a command. "That isn't her," the Jedi said. "That's not Revan Starfire." She sounded so convinced that he lowered the gun.

"I don't..." his voice trailed off. "I don't want to die today."

"No one will die today," the woman said softly, almost hypnotically, and he wondered if this was some strange Force compulsion after all. Her eyes were a washed-out blue, like the Coruscanti sky in the two-week spring when the clouds vanished. Her face was creased with lines and her hair was gray and cropped.

The woman that wasn't Revan and her droid walked down the ramp to meet them.

"We have to die today," Erik said stupidly. "Because we know about..."

_Malachor. The Eg's name was Malachor but to Erik that word would never be a name. Malachor was the end. Malachor was where the whole mess finally fell apart. Malachor V. Her orders. He hadn't been there of course, but neither had she. There weren't many people that had been there still alive...and not very many people knew the truth. It was the Fleet's little secret, the one that no one spoke of. _

_Some things are too terrible to speak of._

_And she gave the orders._

"Captain..." the Jedi was talking to him again and he was startled to see a tear in her eye. She shook her head slowly. "That isn't her, Captain. Put down your weapon and find peace. That isn't her."

"What the frack is going on?"

"Shut up, Cally," Erik murmured, staring out at the hanger bay. Almost absently, he lowered his gun.

The woman reached them. Her face was marked with a thin tracery of black lines, rayed out from her eyes. It was Darth Revan's face.

"That is _not_ my ship," rumbled a voice behind them. Erik turned to see a Hutt on a grav lift, the traditional twi'lek chained to his side. Lido muttered something and spat on the ground. "Where is my _Girl From Hoth? _She's supposed to be docking here..._"_

The smaller Jedi, the apprentice, was nearly as wide-eyed and hapless-looking as Cally. She shook her head, restless.

"M-master Jopheena?"

"Yes, Thalia?"

"Mekel...he's close. Really close. I think..." Her brown-skinned face bent in a frown of concentration. "But also, there are more people coming..."

The woman who looked like Darth Revan had reached them. "What I asked for," she said, words ringing out like a bell, "were a decent stylist and some holo photographers, as well as a masseuse for the in-flight ride to my hotel. What you've given me are..." her eyes scanned them all incredulously. "...two Jedi, a pack of CoruSec civvie guards and...a Hutt? And a Hutt's slave," she added. "I hate slavery. It's very distasteful to me. For this I had surgery? Do you realize that I've been waiting on ground clearance to land for three days now? If _Senator _D'Reev thinks I'm going to stand for this..."

"Recommendation: Mistress, we need to contact Juut and demand better terms on the contract. This type of excitement is not good for your delicate nerves." The protocol droid's voice dripped artificial concern.

"Indeed it's not!" The woman rolled her green eyes at them all. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"People are coming," whispered the younger Jedi. She seemed barely out of her tweens, if that. "Lots of them. Fleet I think."

"Most certainly Fleet," said the older. "I'm not a bit surprised. I'm not the only one with friends in the Civilian Guard. Three different branches at least. Fleet factions make the Jedi Council look united."

"I demand to know where my ship is," rumbled the Hutt. "I have all the proper permits, _The Girl from Hoth, _from Manaan. I'm a law-abiding citizen."

The old Jedi laughed in a manner that was disturbingly un-jedi-like. "From Manaan? I wouldn't look right now, if I were you..."

Captain Erik Qan'Jin found his voice at last. "You're an actress," he said to the woman. "Of course, you're an actress..."

His gut twisted. _Did D'Reev send us here to kill an actress or die trying to kill the real Darth Revan?_

_Either way, D'Reev will find some other way to kill us. Stang, he'll blame this on us too somehow. Bloody kid. Bloody _Revan. _Bloody stinking D'Reevs..._

"_An_ actress?" the woman sounded shocked. She threw a hand across her brow, a gesture he'd never seen in real life. "I'm Seriina Starr, you imbecile. Where is my masseuse? My stylist? The holo-cams? Did I mention I've been orbiting Coruscant for three days? The landing computer kept insisting that I didn't have the proper docking permits!"

The Captain tried to regain control of the situation. The Hutt was still mumbling his outrage, but quietly—_he doesn't want trouble, that one, show me a Hutt that ever has wanted trouble, or not been wallowing in it. _

"They're coming..." Thalia intoned. Her eyes were glassy, like some oracle from Dathomir.

The old Jedi looked amused. "I'd give my 'saber to know how she arranged this," she murmured. She shot Eric a complicit glance, as if this was all some kind of cosmic joke. "Captain..." Seriina Starr was demanding to speak to someone on her holocomm in ringing imperious tones. The old Jedi's eyes scanned his face. "I sense a great sadness within you. Come speak with me at the Temple sometime. Perhaps we should talk."

"Y-yes," he nodded. His head hurt and his gut ached.

"Revan Starfire!" called a voice from down the corridor, "Surrender yourself to Naval Custody, Citizen. By High Admiral Rensha's command!"

The red-haired woman looked terrified and furious. "What is the meaning of this?"

"We have you surrounded, Revan Starfire!" called another voice. There was the sound of several blasters clicking into readiness.

_We're going to die caught in the crossfire with some ancient floozy actress from a holovid. Why don't the Jedi...?_

"I really don't understand!"

"Shut up, Cally."

_"I am NOT Revan Starfire!"_ Old as the Reef, and probably as full of silicate as a Thranari, Seriina Starr still had a powerful set of lungs. Her voice boomed across the hangar. She waved her arms helplessly as the Fleet troops—crack special operations experts by the look—encircled them all.

The Captain opened his mouth to say something else to the Jedi but they were gone. _How do Jedi do that? How do they just vanish into thin air?_

_Stealth belts,_ the practical side of him thought. _Jedi aren't above using a scoundrel's tricks._

He waved a hand at the Fleet troops and their commander saluted him. Erik sighed and turned back to his men. "Since we're all still alive. I suggest we move back to base."

"Thanks for holding her down, Captain," one of special ops team called out.

_Yeah, no problem._ _Seriina Starr is a real threat to the galaxy. _

Portside was hopping with activity. The actress's ship hadn't been the only one delayed. The landing grids screwed up all the time, but usually they weren't quite this bad. They passed two more squads of Fleet, the Aldaraanian ambassador, a herd of Ithorians involved in some kind of quarantine dispute and three more sets of brown robes. One odd thing stuck in his mind. Later, when Erik told his wife the story—when it was..._safe..._to tell his wife the story, he made sure to mention it. One of the flocks of Jedi was walking with a large heavily armed band of Mandalorians.

Still, it could have been a coincidence. All sorts of strange combinations wash up on the shores of the Reef.

XXX

_14:35 CGST _

_Revan_

The blast doors opened, and their escort stood on the other side. Revan kept her head low, flanking the towering figure dressed in battered silver and blue armor, patched and soldered in many places, as if scorched by some terrible war.

_Or a very patient wookiee with a laser torch. _

Canderous hung back, she could feel him at her back with something that wasn't the Force, just the awareness of someone who had always been at her back, and always would be. _Thank you for doing this Cand'. _Revan didn't expect this reunion to be easy on him. One of the Clans here on Coruscant was Ordo, and ever since Mission had told them the name of the woman who led them, her warrior had grown very quiet. She did not ask him about it, if he wanted to tell her he would.

Lin was on the other side of the armor—of Zaal'. He was going to do most of the talking, at least at first. The initial ruse was important, if they wanted to get Zaalbar through port security. There were more holes in this plan than an eridu blanket ravaged by moths, but she hoped they'd get through. Somehow.

HK trailed behind, clanking slightly in his patched-together disguise. She'd turned his voder back on, after giving him strict instructions _not_ to use it except for the express purpose for which he'd been instructed. Zaal's Mandalorian really wasn't very good, and under the circumstances...well it would look strange if there were things he did not understand. Her assassin droid's translation of Mandalorian into Shyriiwook went on in the background, a dull drone that sounded like almost nothing to human ears, unless you knew what to listen for.

Revan took a deep breath. Air and space oil and that peculiar smell that was uniquely Coruscant: rotting metal and mildew tinged with ozone and the scent of rain. She'd been fourteen when she first—_came here. _The memory came so naturally she almost jumped out of her skin.

_I was fourteen, and Mal brought me home with him. Home to meet his father. And we went to the Temple and there was a party in the D'Reev ballroom, we were the guests of honor and there was the clink of glasses and the murmur of soft conversation and we danced until the old man called us over and he asked me, he asked me—_

Her step faltered.

_I was fourteen and I snuck out of the house with my cousin Sara, and we went to the cantina. We drank fizz-pop and pretended it was whiskey. There were pilots there and then cousin Beya saw us and she was older, she was eighteen and she called Ma and I was grounded for a week and I was fourteen and I used to race my glider in the canyon I wanted to grow up to be a pilot and I did and I crashed my glider in the canyon wall—_

_I was fourteen and I wanted to be a Jedi Knight._

_I was fourteen and I wanted to be a star pilot._

_You're losing it, Rev. _Oerin's voice brushed against her mind, soft as a feather. Reflexively she reached out with the Force for him, like an arm to steady herself. And for a brief second, there was something_—someone reaching back like a hand clasped in hers—_and then Lin slammed her back into her mind so hard that she saw stars. Revan staggered and almost fell down.

"Don't," he said out loud. "Not now. My apologies, Mother Ordo," he continued smoothly in Mandalorian. "My Jedi Master is ill."

"She does look frail," the woman answered him, pulling back her own hood to reveal a sun-lined face grown pale under Coruscant clouds and silvering yellow hair coiled in braids. A beautiful face, the lines only enhanced the strength of her features.

"Hail Mandalore," chimed the three warriors in battle armor. They spoke in unison, as if they'd rehearsed it. The girl and the boy dressed in plain hooded robes moved aside. The girl in one smooth movement, and the boy a little more hesitantly. The boy was wearing black goggles over his eyes, but Revan recognized him, with a sinking sensation of guilt.

_Mekel, that's Mekel. That's Mekel Jin..._

Of all of them, Mekel was the only one staring at her and not at the towering suit of armor that concealed a three-meter high Wookiee.

The Mandalorians all knelt in unison before the towering suit of armor.

"We will have more time for ceremony back at the Embassy," Oerin said smoothly. "Perhaps you could show us to your transport now? I sense a great disturbance in the Force nearby."

_How does he do that? Does he really or is that a bluff? _Her skin prickled and she squelched the urge to reach out and check. Revan couldn't sense anything at all, not and hide herself at the same time.

"Jedi near here," Mekel muttered in Basic. "Troops too, I think. Hell and Thalia bloody May." He frowned and shook his head, shivering. "We didn't need a distraction," he whispered. "Why'd you have to be so dramatic, Blue?"

"Your slave talks to his gods frequently," the golden-haired girl said, grinning archly at the towering silver suit of armor. "Is he mad?"

HK droned a series of soft growls and the towering silver armor made a noncommittal gesture.

"The lad is Force-touched," Oerin shrugged. "We do need to leave."

Somewhere not far away a woman was screaming something, it sounded like...

_"...NOT Revan Starfire!"_

_I will not react to that. I will not wonder who that is. We need to get out of here...Mekel can talk to Mission. The collar. Is that woman her distraction? Bloody hell, fracking hell, what the hell did she do?_

Canderous was being so carefully silent that it worried her. Revan glanced back. The mask hid his face, and Jolee's old robe covered the rest of him...mostly. The arms were too short, and the leggings were a little...too tight. Actually he looked ridiculous with a battered lightsaber dangling from his belt instead his swords and his rifle. Their luggage transport--belatedly she noticed the script that read "Property of Ahto City Port Authority" stamped on the side—hovered obediently behind them all, piled high with the rest of their possessions—_weapons--_like a faithful kath hound.

"Why does the Mandalore let Jedi speak for him?" the older woman asked, ignoring the commotion off in the halls. "A set of armor does not rule us. If this is a trick..." Her hands went to the hilts of her swords.

The Mandalorian girl frowned and looked down the long corridor that led to the other docking bays. From that direction came running feet and more shouts. The warriors seemed restless, hands on their blasters.

_We need to get out of here. Now._

Revan swallowed hard and stepped forward. Until the words came out of her mouth, she had no idea what she was going to say.

_XXX_

_14:33 CGST The Eglatine Institute _

_Korrie D'Reev_

"How many votes are required to place a motion before the Galactic Senate?" Teacher Biny's voice sounded like a broken motor engine. Korrie slumped further down in his chair, so the Althirian wouldn't call on him. He stared at the cracked surface of his desk. It was very old, like everything else in the Institute. Someone had carved an 'M' on it a long time ago. He liked to sit here because of that. He liked to pretend that Father carved it when he was a little boy. Father said he didn't remember, but Korrie liked to think it might be true.

Father wasn't here right now. He was almost never here at school. Only when Korrie got into trouble. Or once, when Thrap Mik'alan started teasing him and they had a fight and they both got detenshun. Father came and sat with him in the little round room and told him stories about the pranks he'd played when he was a boy. Before Father's mother died and the Jedi took him away because he had the Force.

"Eglatine Phin." Isabait Phin lowered her hand and sat up very straight, proud to be called on. She was sort of a dimbulb, the Phin family was pretty inbred. Grandfather said that was bad, he thought most of the Senate families were all maffasomethings. That meant weak.

"Five," Isabait simpered. "Five votes."

"And how many to pass the motion?"

The class was silent. Half of them weren't paying attention anyways. Leeshy poked him under the table, and Korrie grinned at her. Father said don't be sad and pretend everything was fine so he was trying to do that. _Seventy-three. _It was a funny number, once it had been half the number of planets in the Republic or something. Korrie wasn't sure if it still was. The number of planets in the Republic changed a lot.

"Eglatine Makeon?"

"Lots," Angis Makeon said. "Seventy-three. My father says that's why we never get anything done..."

"Without the commentary, please. Next question, how many--"

_The air smelled like spaceships and there were people in armor and robes and for a second her hand closed around his and he looked up and she was wearing brown and something that covered most of her face and Korrie took her hand and--_

_Something slammed in his head so hard he felt stars._

Korrie was on the floor. Something tasted salty in his mouth. Blood. He'd bitten his tongue. "Eglatine D'Reev?" Two of the security guards from the door helped him get up again.

Father said don't do anything unusual, Father said, you are _not _going to sneak off and meet her, Father said, pretend that everything is okay. But Father hadn't said what to do about this. Korrie's legs felt bendy; like he wasn't sure he could stand up on them.

"Mother," he whispered. Father said you are _not _going to sneak off and meet her, but Father was dead and she was _here. _Angis giggled. One of the guards gasped and pulled his hand away from Korrie like he was scared. Korrie looked up at them. He bit his lip so he wouldn't say anything else.

Teacher Biny was frowning. "Infirmary," he told the guards. The Egs always had to go to the infirmary every time anything happened, even if it was just a stubbed toe.

_XXX_

_Revan_

"By sand, by air and by stars, please, Mother Ordo. I seek the protection of your tent in a time of great trouble. In the name of the old ways, in the name of women's ways. _Please." _Revan spoke before she thought, the words coming from some place that she could not remember.

Behind her, Canderous grunted something that sounded like approval.

Mother Ordo's mouth twisted. "Whose tent sheltered you, daughter of sand, air and stars?" Her voice was acid, as if she did not expect the proper response.

"Clan Lin," Revan said quietly. "By the blood of my son, pledged to yours. May they—May they—"I_ can't remember..._

Oerin Lin broke in and finished the formal phrase for her. "May they win many battles. May they be blooded against our enemies, may they return to our clans and father many daughters to continue the line."

"There is no Clan Lin, its blood was spilled and trampled in the sand." The woman did not back down. "This is some kind of Jedi trick." Behind her, the warriors muttered and the blonde girl glared. "We may be a beaten people but we are not fools, _Jedi. _Your emissaries' instructions were suspicious from the start. Bringing us the Mandalore? Instructing us to court favor with the Coruscanti vermin?" She spat on the ground. "We play their hellspawned games only as much as it serves us, and Mandalorians do not serve _Jedi!"_

"We do have the Mandalore—and his armor--Gwen." Canderous stepped forward and took the woman's hand. "Let's get out of this maffa-stinking hellhole and I'll explain."

At the sound of that gravel-rain voice, all of the Mandalorians froze. The warriors' hands went to their blasters, until one glance from the younger woman stopped them. The older woman—_Gwen--_began to laugh, and to move, very quickly. She waved a hand and they all trooped behind, followed by the luggage carrier.

"You're going to have _much_ explaining to do, Canderous Ordo."

"I'll explain everything, when we get out of here, Gwen..."

"We have a new daughter," she added, almost conversationally.

Canderous did not break step. "I am pleased for the continuation of our clan. Has she been named?"

"Not yet. And Aemelie bore a son."

"A double blessing." Her warrior's voice was gruff, with an emotion she couldn't read. Revan frowned at his back, worrying. _This is Canderous' clan. What does that mean?_

A squad of Fleet soldiers marched past them, and they all edged to the side. They surrounded a red-haired woman dressed in black robes and a shrieking protocol droid. Her face was..._mine. My face._

"I tell you this is a mistake! I know Senator D'Reev personally! When my agent hears about this..."

_I'm not even going to be curious. But later, I am going to get very angry at Mission. We needed a distraction...but did she have to find another version of Darth Revan? And where did she?_

They passed a few squads of Fleet, heavily armed, and one troop of civilian guards, as well as a mass of confused travelers from a hundred different worlds. There had been, Revan gathered from the snatches of conversation, landing delays due to grid failure all over the port. _How convenient._

The hallway wound around a featureless stretch of gray durasteel. Her legs felt oddly light. The _Hoth's _gravity had been stronger--not much--but just enough to throw her off-kilter. A temporary signboard next to an archway scrolled a message in blue Basic script.

_Due to unusually heavy traffic, all customs clearance is at the main desk. Please have your docking clearances and citizenship chips ready._

Words chimed the same message overhead, in Basic, Twi'leki, Rodian, Aqualish, and a dozen other languages.

Mekel's hand brushed her arm. Revan flinched, her artificial calm broken so easily. "Thalia's confused," he muttered. "And behind us."

_Thalia May, the leader of the rebel students in the shryack caves...why is that important? Why is she here?_

"Don't even think of it," Oerin Lin said softly from her other side. He said the words before she even did think of it, think of reaching for the Force.

"Delays," Revan mumbled. She felt ready to jump out of her skin.

"You can blame Blue." Mekel whispered back. "She thought this was all a good idea."

"Stop using the Force, boy," hissed Oerin. "You're almost as bad as _she_ is."

"I know how to hide," Mekel shot back. "And who the hell are _you_?"

Oerin Lin chuckled under the folds of his robe. "I'm special."

"Later," Revan snapped.

XXX

Korrie D'Reev

The guards took him to the infirmary. There were lots of guards around him today. More than regular, and Grandfather always had lots.

"I'm fine," Korrie insisted. "Honest!"

"The Senator wanted to be notified if the boy did anything unusual..." one of them muttered.

"And that's new?"

"Today, especially, he said."

"Why today?"

"Well, you've heard the rumors..."

Father said be very careful. Father said look stupid so that they talk in front of you. Father said cry in front of Grandfather because he can't stand it. Father said she'd come and take him back. Father said maybe Captain Onasi and Dustil weren't going to help them after all. Father said Dustil was dangerous and he was sorry about that. Sorry about something. Father was trying to reach her but he couldn't. Father said be very brave and I'll keep you safe.

Korrie was sick of being brave. His plan had been better. Father said don't sneak off and meet her, but Father was dead and she was _here. _He stopped walking. "No," he said.

"Don't do this, Mal."

Father was taller and stronger than any of the guards. His black cape billowed around him and he had his scary Sith face, the one that didn't scare Korrie because that was how Father was supposed to look.

"I just want to see her!" Korrie wailed.

"Oh hell," one of the guards said. She was standing where Father was standing, so that they sort of melted together, but she couldn't see him. If she could see him, she'd let him go, Korrie was sure. Nobody messed with Father, back when he was alive.

Korrie crossed his arms like Father was doing and glared back at him. The guards weren't important they were just men who worked for Grandfather. They were going to tell Grandfather and then he was going to be in trouble and he'd never get to see her. "I don't care!" Korrie screamed, loud as he could. "I want to see her! She's here! My mother's here!"

One of the guards was saying really bad words. Another one put his hand on Korrie's shoulder like he was afraid Korrie would bite him. "Come on, kid." he said gently. "We'll take you to Nurse Gin and she'll make it all better."

"Do we--do we have to give a full report?" Another guard sounded really scared. Scared of Grandfather because no one was ever supposed to talk about who Korrie's parents were or what happened to them or why they went all evil and went away from him.

"Make them take me to her," Korrie said, crying. "Father, make them!"

"Father?"

"The kid's nuts. I mean, all things considered, is that surprising?"

"Malachor..." Father came to him, and for a second he could almost feel Father's arms hugging him, as he bent down and placed his arms around Korrie. "Be very brave, I promise she'll come...I promise."

"Can you see her? Can you talk to her? When am I gonna see her, when?"

"Who's _her?" _someone muttered.

"Who do you fracking think?" someone else said back.

"It's true? the kid's really...theirs?" The guards were whispering.

They always whispered around him, they always had ever since he could remember. Everyone. Sometimes Korrie thought it was because he was special, but other times he thought it was because his parents had done something bad or because everyone was scared of Grandfather. "I want my _Mother!_" he said out loud.

Nurse Gin was coming down the hall now. Normally he liked her, but today was different. She had a dermpack in her hand, like the ones Ache Kay made him take because Grandfather said he had to when he felt her being bad and it would make him go to sleep and he didn't want to go to sleep.

"Malachor, stop it!" Father's eyes were very mean, like he was trying to scare Korrie.

"No!" Korrie was sick of being brave. None of Father's ideas had worked out. Dustil and Captain Onasi were mad at his mother and they weren't going to help. If he had something like the Force everyone would have to do what he said, but he didn't and no one was listening and no one cared.

Nurse Gin smelled like mints and antiseptik like she always did. She pushed up the sleeve of his robe and pressed the derm on it before he could stop her. The world was getting very small and fuzzy very fast. Father was sitting on the ground next to him. "She won't talk to me," Father said. "Mal, I'm trying to reach her, but she's shut me out."

"Make her hear us," Korrie said. "Make her hear us!"

Then the derm worked and the world went out.

XXX

_Revan_

They came to a large room filled with sentients. They were not the only ones in armor, or the only ones hooded and masked. They weren't even, Revan noticed with a chill, the only Jedi. _Which is good, because we won't stand out, and bad because...if they look at us too carefully they might... _There was a rambling line that curled around itself, and the babble of a hundred different languages. Most sounded completely outraged. At the end of the room, one exhausted-looking uniformed Rodian was trying to process the mob through customs. One sentient at a time.

Canderous had been talking softly to Gwen while the blonde girl rather pointedly ignored him. Gwen nodded at something and then glanced back at the rest of them, her eyes going straight for Revan's. Her expression was cold and furious and she spoke in Mandalorian.

"I warn you, Jedi--if you play us false, we will settle this in the Coruscanti fashion, and not with the more honorable ways. Don't think I can't guess who Canderous brings to our tent. Everyone in the galaxy knows the name of my husband's female companion..."

_Husband? _Revan met the woman's gaze steadily through the comforting barricade of her visor. "We're not—companions..." She wasn't sure what the woman meant. Was it jealousy? "Canderous and I aren't..." she began again, stuttering.

Gwen spat on the ground and turned back to Canderous. His mask hid his expression completely and he turned his back on all of them with slow deliberate grace.

Oerin laughed softly and poked her elbow. "Bloody barbarians..." He chuckled. "She's not jealous--I'd expect she just doesn't like you for being you..."

_Canderous never mentioned any family, only his clan. Will this change anything? Is he—okay? Is this an advantage? The woman mentioned a new daughter—but it can't be his...I don't understand... _Revan could tell nothing from the set of his shoulders.

They'd joined the line now, and Revan moved back to the luggage carrier, Oerin and Mekel at her heels, sitting down on it carefully so that her legs obscured the Selkath script. The three warriors in Mandalorian battle armor moved in front of her, following Zaalbar and HK.

There was a commotion at the front of the line where a Trandoshan was arguing with a security team. His companions, two masked humanids and a Wookiee, were being retinally scanned. The Wookiee's coat was dull and matted. He was in chains.

_Getting any Wookiee through customs on this day wouldn't be easy. Which is only one reason we can't afford to risk going through customs..._

The Wookiee was in chains. Revan put her hand lightly on Zaalbar's arm. He stood directly in front of her, a silent towering figure. She wished there was something she could do...or at least say to him.

_There was a time when I would have just cut a swathe. That's what I did on Kashyyyk to the Czerka..._

"Blue says wait for it," whispered Mekel in Basic. He looked at her and bit his lip, then looked away again. "Soon..."

Behind them voices were demanding diplomatic processing in patrician Aldaraanian tones.

Canderous reached out a hand to the Mandalorian girl. She pulled away from him and joined the rest of them at the luggage transport. Her face was twisted and sullen.

The girl was maybe sixteen or seventeen standard. She had Canderous' eyes, like chips of gray-blue ice. And she was glaring at Revan. "I almost hope you're lying about the Mandalore," she hissed. "It would be a pleasure to throw you to the Coruscanti dogs."

"We're not lying," Revan said. "I would not lie to a Mandalorian about such things. Nor would your fa--" she hesitated, not sure if she could offend the girl more, not even sure if her conclusion was correct, or what it meant, in their culture. _I should know this, why didn't I ask Lin and Cand' more questions? Why can't I remember something useful?_

A mechanical voice crackled over the comm.

"All sentients with diplomatic standing please proceed to room 43 for clearance. We hope that this will help alleviate the congestion."

The outraged Aldaraanians behind them stopped in mid-rant.

"That's us," Mekel murmured, standing up. They and several other large groups of richly-dressed sentients split from the line. A side door slid open. Inside, a more lavishly appointed room, another desk, another uniformed Rodian. To his left, an open gate and beyond that a black plain and a slice of pale Coruscanti sky, the color of milk.

_Diplomats don't have to be screened with the same thoroughness. They can't risk offending them by making them wait through a retinal check and a luggage search..._

Revan kept herself warily next to the luggage transport, wondering if doing so was like painting a huge target sign on it, or if she was in fact obscuring its origin. Their ship's false registry codes were from Endar, not Manaan; and beneath the Selkath script, the words 'Property of Ahto City' were also stamped in Basic. HK had taken up his position on top of it and temporarily powered down, just another piece of machinery amidst a stack of crates and containers. Zaalbar moved to the front, standing with the others in battle armor. If he hadn't been a meter taller than them, and if his armor wasn't a patchwork of blue and silver, his mask a curious and very ancient design, he might have blended in. Still, in a room full of sentients from a hundred worlds and cultures, he didn't exactly stand out either. Canderous and Gwen were still whispering furiously in Mandalorian near the front of the line. Mekel stood in front of Revan, keeping his head down, shoulders hunched. Oerin Lin had taken the blond girl's arm and seemed to be talking to her in Mandalorian about the Jedi Code.

_I'm glad he knows it, since he's supposed to be one..._

"There is no passion, there is serenity," Oerin began. "Many scholars have discussed these words, and their possible interpretations. "Is it base physical desire they eschew in favor of enlightenment?" Or is it..." his voice dropped lower, and he blushed. His head leaned closer to hers. Unbelievably, the girl giggled.

_Is he...flirting? _Revan frowned.

"I don't believe we've met," murmured an accented voice from behind her. Mid-core, Widek maybe, or Archon V. "What business does the Order have with Mandalorians? Are you part of the relief efforts?"

Revan turned around slowly, very, very slowly. She kept her hands folded under her robe neatly in front of her. _I am a Jedi Knight returning home after a long journey._

"We are not permitted to discuss it, Master..." She wasn't sure what she would have done if the man's face had been familiar, but it was not. He was human and wearing Master's brown. Behind him trailed a Twi'lek Padawan, and some Mon Calamari. Jedi escorts for diplomatic parties were quite common. They all seemed to be together, but she wasn't sure.

"Master Drez," he said calmly. "And you are?"

If she let herself, she'd feel the Force around them. The man's expression slowly changed to something like puzzlement—as if he was reaching for her presence and finding nothing.

_A good trick, Oerin Lin. Except if he starts thinking I'm a Jedi imposter..._

"Knight Eras Dawn runner," Revan said, trying to think about how Bastila would say the words, and make her voice mimic that cool—and yet unthreatening--assurance. "We've had a long journey, Master, excuse my exhaustion."

"There's something odd..." he peered at her, as if trying to see her face under the robe, under the visor. His Padawan came closer, a green Twi'lek boy who was...

_One of the other students from the cave. I never knew their names. Thalia May and the two others. That's one of them. Thalia is here too, Mekel said. Are they...are they _hunting_ for me?_

_Oh hell._

The man's head jerked past her suddenly. Oerin Lin came towards them, pushing back his hood, and pulling off his visor. His eyes were a disturbingly vivid shade of blue—_they should be yellow--_and he had a delighted smile on his face.

"Master!" he said happily. "It's been a long time..."

"My apologies, Padawan, I don't remember where..."

Oerin seemed bright as the sun, as if suddenly he was the only person in the room. _What I would give to know how he does that,_ Revan thought, with a dull sense of wary relief. She stepped back slightly, bumping into Mekel who was deliberately looking very hard in the other direction. Mekel looked as if he were trying to melt into the floor.

Ahead of them, Gwen was speaking to the Rodian port official, and flashing her diplomatic credentials. Canderous stood, a hooded figure in brown at her side. His stance was more warrior than Jedi under those robes, even though he'd folded his hands in the sleeves just like she'd taught him.

"On Dantooine!" Oerin's voice boomed happily. _A guess? Or can he read the man's mind? _" Perhaps you wouldn't remember me. I was much younger, but I always looked up to you. And I will never forget those meditation exercises you taught us!"

Now everyone in the room was looking at them, or rather, looking at Oerin Lin.

"Perhaps I remember now...Naran Fee was it?" The Jedi Master seemed dazed. His eyes were almost glassy, as were the eyes of the boy beside him.

"Well it was, yes. Naran Starshine now..." _Starshine. I should be happy he didn't go with Gamemaster, or Darkside. Or simply Mandalore, like he threatened. The part of the plan that involved Zaalbar being the Mandalore had _not_ sat well with Lin. But how else could we get a Wookiee through customs?_

Oerin launched into a long elaborate story that hinted at why the Order would be escorting Mandalorians into Coruscant, without actually giving any reasons.

"...and _then_ we were attacked by pirates, but we managed to convince them to free us, as well as bringing an end to the slave trade in that quadrant of the Teeta sector..."

"We are free to go," Mekel whispered, words so faint she almost didn't hear him. He started to move to the door. Ahead of them Gwen was going through the gates already. Canderous turned back, and nodded, a quick jerk of his head. The Mandalorian could say quite a bit in one gesture. Right now he was saying; _get the hell out of here now!_

_My thoughts exactly._

But Zaalbar had moved back to her flank, which wasn't really the right thing for the Mandalore to do, although she could understand why he did it. The Mandalorian warriors followed him back obediently. "Go on," Revan murmured softly. "Go." It was like herding hessi. Now Mekel and the girl and Canderous and Gwen were already through the gates.

_Politely say farewell and follow them._

"Excuse us, Master Drez," Revan began. "We must take our leave now. My Padawan would keep you here for hours, with more of his rather...exaggerated tales of our adventures..."

Behind the dazed Jedi two more robed figures pushed through the crowd of Mons. Both faces were familiar but she could only put a name to the younger one. _And here is Thalia May. _The older woman looked right at her with pale eyes that seemed to pass through the flimsy visor right into her very soul.

"_There_ you are, my prodigal Knight!"

_Oh fracking hell. _

Revan tensed, so much that even Force-addled Master Drez frowned at it. The crowd around her ceased to be lines of sentients waiting for processing. It became an obstacle course, and she plotted trajectories towards the exit, and the possibilities of getting out of this intact and—although that possibility seemed really dim—somehow undiscovered. She turned away from the woman and gauged the distance to the exit.

From somewhere behind them, came the sound of an explosion, followed by frightened screams and the sounds of running feet.

_The permacrete detonators on the _Girl From Hoth. _Just in time. Mission set them off. A distraction was exactly what we needed. And now we really need to move._

Her voice came out, completely calm and reasonable, as if all of this was normal.

"My apologies, Masters. We're in a hurry." With that she turned away from the Jedi and started walking, Oerin Lin trailing obediently at her heels. And the luggage transport too.

There were running steps behind her and the old woman caught her arm. Revan kept walking, her head held high, as if all of this was expected. Her free hand shifted down to the hilt of her 'saber. Behind her she heard Oerin mutter an old Mandalorian curse.

"Krayt dragons are actually very peaceful creatures, as long as you don't corner one in its lair. Any cornered creature will fight for its own survival, no matter what the odds. And its companions may do the same. Tell yours I mean you no harm."

They passed through the gate. She didn't dare turn around, not now. The groundside air was soft and smelled like fuel and metal and rain. Ahead of them stretched the plain of visitor parking. Several garages and lots. Cracked duracrete under her feet. Ahead of them stood Zaalbar and Canderous and their Mandalorian escort. Canderous already had a rifle in his hands, and Zaalbar had unsheathed the vibroswords strapped to his back. The Mandalorians had their blasters drawn. The younger blond woman even had a faint smile on her face, as she fiddled with the casing of a grenade. Standing in front of them all was her final defender. Mekel held a double-bladed yellow saber, clenched in trembling fists. His hood had fallen back and his face was very pale underneath the black goggles of his visor.

_He's holding it wrong, he'll be lucky if only loses an eye and not an arm trying to swing it like that..._

And of course, the parking lot wasn't empty, or unguarded. An alarm went off somewhere, and a toneless voice droned from a hovering security drone that shone a bright beam of light straight at Mekel Jin.

"Sentient identified: wanted by CoruSec security and by orders of the Jedi Council. Underground denizen Mekel Jin, sub-level 47, please put down your weapon."

The cool voice beside her spoke. "I am Master Jopheena of the Council. My companions and I will take Mekel Jin into custody, please stand down."

_Her companions?_

Revan turned her head. Oerin Lin was at her back, his face very smooth and calm. HK stood on top of the luggage transport with a disrupter rifle in his hands, metallic eyes glinting a happy red. He had the old woman in his sights. Thalia May looked absolutely terrified. There was no one else behind them.

_She has no other companions. She means us._

"Stand down," Revan called out. To all of them.

"Mekel Jin is considered armed and extremely dangerous, Master Jopheena. Port security recommends that you accept our offer of additional assistance."

Fingers tightened slightly on Revan's arm. "I think one untrained boy is no match for a Jedi Master, a Jedi Knight, three Padawans and our hired mercenaries, don't you?" The Jedi's voice carried, and ahead of them, she saw Canderous, lower his rifle, the others following his lead. "This is Council business," the woman continued. "And we have the situation well under control."

The expression on Mekel Jin's face slowly changed from desperate defiance to a blank calm that could have been relief. A hiss and his 'saber deactivated.

Canderous stepped forward and smoothly took it from him, pinning the boy's arms behind his back.

"An old friend, perhaps?" Oerin Lin whispered behind her. "Are you going to introduce us?"

"To do that, I'd have to be able to remember," Revan hissed. She would not let herself be angry, their position was too precarious. Whoever the woman was, they'd find out.

"Master Klee's here too," the old woman said. "And some of the others. You are fortunate it was Drex that caught you in the customs line, not Klee. I don't think your Padawan's Sith tricks would have worked on Klee, dear. If you have some transport, you need to get to it. Soon. That explosion will not throw them off for long."

The others had reached them. "Cruiser's this way," Canderous muttered through his mask. "Not far. Move. Talk later." He strode off through the lot, dragging Mekel behind him. The others followed.

"The Council is divided," Revan said quietly, quickening her step. The old woman's bony fingers clutched her arm. "The Council is divided regarding my case. And you are..."

"One of your uncle's friends, dear. We served together in the Sith Wars. How did you manage all of this without the Force? No—no, don't tell me. Perhaps there are some things I should not know. Your uncle and I...and some others want to ask you a question."

"Ask it."

The planetside cruiser was an old model, and a little battered. The docking ramp was down. The others stepped aside to get the luggage transport into it.

"Why are you here?"

"There was something my uncle didn't tell me," Revan swallowed and wondered how much the old Jedi knew, how much it was safe to tell her.

"Ah—and this...secret, do you know it now?"

"I know." _A part of me always knew. I just didn't want to—it wasn't safe to remember—I wasn't safe. Not for him, not for Malachor._

"Did the Jedi..." her voice trailed off and she thought of a hundred questions to ask. _Did you do something to Carth's mind like you did to mine? Are you with D'Reev or against him? Did you send me to die on the Star Forge or redeem myself? How could you take away the memories of my son? In this battle I must fight are you my allies or not? _The old woman's face was kind and sad and it should be familiar, she was certain it should be familiar, but there was nothing where a memory should be. _Because they burned it from my mind._

"Do you hate the Council for what we did to you?" A bald question. _Of course, they wonder. They wonder if they need to worry about saving their own skins. _They'd stopped at the loading ramp. The old woman had dropped her arm and stood facing her, Thalia May at her side.

"Carth Onasi," Revan said. "Did you have anything to do with taking Carth from me?"

That wasn't really an answer, and it was only one of a hundred questions.

Master Jopheena shook her head. "No," she said softly. "In that at least we are blameless." She sighed. "I saw your Captain, and his son, and—and--yours. I do not know what was done to the pilot, but he is broken, broken as you were once. It was not done with the Force." Those blue eyes scanned the perfect mask of her visor, as if searching for answers underneath it. "You do not seem broken now, Revan."

"I—I don't even remember how—or why—or what..." Her voice was shaking and she stopped speaking. _I will not be broken. Not anymore._

The old Jedi smiled sadly. "Did you ever think that might be a mercy?"

"Is the old woman coming with us or not?" Canderous' gravel voice came from the top of the docking ramp, with Zaalbar looming behind him. The rest were already inside.

Thalia May grabbed the old woman's arm. "Please," she whispered, "can we just go back to the Temple?"

Revan's eyes moved to the girl's face. Stark terror. Wide eyes, round and frightened. She felt a strange exasperation. _What have I ever done to Thalia May? I saved her from the Sith students who made a sport out of hunting her and the others down in those caves. Why is she scared of me?_

"No, we're not coming," Master Jopheena called back to Canderous. "The Mandalorian makes a rather absurd Padawan," she murmured more softly, raising her brows. "And I do wonder, about your plans—how do they involve Mandalorians? Thalia and I must return to the Temple..." she considered for a moment. "I 'm going to leave Mekel Jin with you, dear. I hope you take the responsibility seriously. He is a troubled young man."

"Mekel is mine," Revan said quietly. _He has to be. I hold his life in my hands. A leader must make the decisions that no one else can live with._

"Yours?" The wrinkled face frowned slightly. "I hope you've learned more than that, Revan."

"Who are you?" _Master Jopheena, I don't remember a Master Jopheena. I remember nothing._

"My name is Jopheena Sundancer. I'm a member of the Jedi Council."

The name meant nothing. The woman was watching her so carefully. Revan wanted to draw on the Force, to see what lay behind that serene facade, but she didn't dare. "I mean no harm to the Council." She made the words flat, trying to bury that part of her that wanted to harm the Council very badly. _Revenge on them does not serve my purpose. Walk away, Carth said to me once. Just walk away._

_Take what is mine and walk away._

"You will not be able to remain hidden from the others long. Malachi D'Reev knows of your arrival. And many suspect it. Soon they all will know. And when they cannot find you with the Force, they will try more mundane methods."

"I don't have to be hidden long." _Just long enough._

The old woman nodded, as if a question was answered. "The Mandalorians," she mused, as if to herself. "I remember how loyal they were to Ulic, long ago."

_After he defeated their leader, the Mandalore. When they helped him sack Coruscant. _

"I am not Ulic," Revan said quietly. "Or Exar Kun."

_And these Mandalorians are no army. They are refugees seeking Senate recognition for the Malachor system. They are a different tool entirely._

"No, you are not." Those blue eyes scanned her face again. Revan resisted the urge to pull back her visor and stare back, eye to eye.

"Revan," Canderous said quietly. He'd come down the ramp to her side. "We need to go." His voice was muffled under the mask.

"I do not intend to—fight—" Revan began.

"I can guess some of your intentions." The old woman looked sad. "I once said to my Padawan that sometimes a quick strike does less harm. Your peace could cause more injury to the Republic than the alternative, if my assumptions are correct."

"You were my—I was your Padawan?" Revan frowned.

"No, dear. You were Vrook's. And Zhar's. You had many Masters, during your training, but you were never mine. My Padawan was Malak." Master Jopheena sighed. "And in the end, as so many did, I failed him."

"Revan, we need to get out of here," Canderous took hold of her arm.

Revan clenched her hands. "I will not kill again," she said quietly. _I don't want to find out if I'd feel every death or not. Bastila made me feel them....but now... I don't want to find out if I'm still...what that computer made me. I don't want to be that. I just want my son. And Carth, andcarth._

Spark of anger, flickering. _I want to kill D'Reev. His death would be sweet. It would be a song._

"Go," Master Jopheena said. Suddenly she looked very old and frail. Just an old woman wearing a brown robe. Her hand trembled and Thalia May took her arm, supporting it. Thalia was very careful not to look their way. She still looked terrified.

_Terrified of me._

"Thalia—" Revan said.

The girl nearly jumped out of her skin, her dark skin turning ash with fright.

"Thalia, I'm not—" _evil, a Sith Lord, dangerous. _

"We need to go." Canderous was pulling her away now, dragging her up the ramp. There was a squad of soldiers trooping out of the port. "Bloody Jedi," he hissed. "Did you ever think they might be stalling for time?"

Revan let herself be dragged. "I don't think—that woman—she didn't mean us any harm."

"Mean us harm or not, we can't be captured now. They'll know we're here soon enough, but they have to find out on our terms..."

"May the Force guide you, Revan Starfire," Master Jopheena whispered. Somehow she made those words carry. Revan turned her back on them and went into the ship. The docking hatch closed behind them, and the cruiser took off.

The cruiser's cabin was one big room. Canderous pulled off his mask and dropped it on the floor. Zaalbar groaned at her underneath the suit of armor. One of the Mandalorians muttered a curse. The ship's engines hummed. The blonde girl glanced at them briefly, and then turned back to the controls.

Gwen Ordo stared them down from one of the couches, sandwiched between two of the warriors. "You spoke truly, husband. You brought us the Mandalore." Behind her, Oerin Lin beamed happily. "But the whelp is still unblooded, and, if his story his true—" Canderous grunted an assent "--you've brought us two Mandalores, not one. How does this serve us?"

Revan swallowed. Facing down the Jedi Master had been easier. "The Senate has always acknowledged local governments, yet they ignore your requests for aid." Mission had given them the reports, weeks ago, on the Mandalorian situation on Coruscant. "If you appoint Lin as your Mandalore, they will be forced to recognize your sovereign status."

"He's unblooded," Gwen said. "He cannot rule us."

Revan pulled off her visor and stared the woman down. "I am blooded," she said, trying to make the words more of a command than an apology. "Sand, air and stars. And the Senate--cannot ignore _me_."

A faint smile crossed the woman's face. "Drenched in blood," she replied. "Not since the ancient times has a woman of our people gained so much honor in the men's world...but, you are also hunted, Jedi. Your own people seek to make an end of you."

"If you accept Lin as Fett, and then appoint me regent, they cannot—openly—move against me," Revan said. "Not without causing an act of aggression against a sovereign people." _We hope._

The Mandalorian considered. "So offer them Lin, get them to accept our status and then give them you....it would be interesting to see how the barbarians would react." Her mouth curved in a smile that was sharp as a sword's blade.

"I am also heir to one of the most powerful seats on the Senate," Revan said. "And I could use that to our mutual advantage."

"Are you?"

"A Coruscanti Senator's term is fixed at one hundred standard years. I married Malak D'Reev on Mandalore and bore his son. By Coruscanti law, I am a D'Reev. Senator Malachi D'Reev has held his seat for one hundred and two years. He's only still in power because my son is a child." She took a deep breath. "His Senate seat is rightfully mine."

_My father hates you, Red. You are a threat to him in ways you can't even imagine._

_I don't want the damn Senate seat, but we don't have to get that far to win._

"D'Reev..." Gwen spat on the floor. "He's played us false. I wouldn't mind seeing him fall."

"Played you?" Revan frowned. She knew of no connection between the Mandalorians and the Senator. _That was one of the reasons we thought this plan would work._

The Mandalorian shrugged. "His agents arranged for our diplomatic status, and he promised us trade with the Core worlds, relief shipments...promises that he has not delivered."

"Why?"

Behind them, the blonde girl gave her an incredulous look. "Why? You of all people should know why!"

Revan gritted her teeth and glanced at Canderous. He shrugged unknowingly.

_How I love surprises._

"Why," Revan repeated. "Why does D'Reev support Mandalorians?"

"It's women's business," Gwen said, glaring at the girl. "And something we do not speak of. D'Reev owed us a favor, and he has been lax in paying it. That is all you need to know." She frowned. "His heir is your son, the Lin whelp says..." Her voice trailed off thoughtfully. "By the old ways, we are sworn to help your clan reclaim him—"

"Yes," Revan said quietly. "You are. Malachor is Lin too."

She would not look at Canderous, or wonder if things had changed. This was his Clan and his wife. Did that change things? _How can I ask him to risk his family to save mine?_

The Mandalorian warriors whispered among themselves. With their helms off, they were very young, barely more than boys.

"I only want my son," Revan admitted quietly. _And Carth, andcarth._

"And once you have him, where does that leave us?"

"With a Mandalore, and whatever else you can wrest from the Senate in the power vacuum D'Reev's absence will create."

_His absence. I want to kill him. It would be sweet._

"A _Lin_ Mandalore. We are Ordo. But the idea has its merits, if Ordo was tied to Lin."

For some reason Canderous sighed. "Gwen...don't..."

"Ordo is pledged to Lin," Revan frowned. "Canderous swore—"

"Blood oaths, men's ways..." Gwen eyed her speculatively. "I would not have an Ordo daughter marry an unblooded whelp. But you yourself would be an asset to our clan. If Lin and Ordo were pledged..."

Revan didn't even want to think about what that might mean. _Does she want to marry me off to an Ordo?_

"I'm blooded in sand," Oerin Lin broke in, indignant. "And air."

"With no fleet you will never be blooded in stars," the blonde girl sneered. "You and all the rest of them. Boys...you'll be boys forever. Not true warriors."

"The Clans will rise again," said one of the young warriors behind her. "Canderous is here. He will lead us to victory and honor against a worthy foe. You should shut up, Milli; it's none of your business."

"With what ships?" the girl shot back. "_She _destroyed our fleet. The battle was won, and she destroyed them anyway. _Revan_ left us with nothing, made us into a race of beggars and thieves. The blooded men are gone, scattered across the galaxy trying to earn back their honor for the tune of a few credits. And _we're _left with this, begging for scraps from the maffa-stinking Republic like paupers. Scraps to feed the few that are left on the home worlds. Old women, children, more unblooded pups like _you, _Kex!"

"There's a season for all things, daughter," Canderous said quietly. "And we will rise again."

_Daughter. I was right. Canderous' family. _Revan wondered if that changed things. She could tell nothing from his face.

_"When we leave Coruscant," she'd said quietly, "your people will be in danger. Are you sure you want to risk this, Cand'?"_

_The warrior looked up at her from the rifle barrel he was polishing. It didn't need polishing. Everything was ready, had been for days. They were only waiting on Mission's transmission, and the _Hoth's _arrival._

_"From the computer's reports and what we've seen on the nets we know that they're dying now," he said slowly. "A slow quiet death. Famine. Diseases we no longer have the technology to treat. That is no death for Mandalorians."_

_"I meant the ones that will help us on Coruscant," Revan said. The plight of the Malachor system was gossip on several star systems. No one was sure how bad things really were there, but there was much speculation. The fifth planet was unstable in its orbit, causing ecological catastrophe on the three inhabited worlds._

_Canderous glowered. "Better for them to fight than beg as they do now. They will thank us for bringing them back their honor. I wouldn't worry about the consequences, Revan. My people can take care of themselves."_

_"And they'll have me," Oerin Lin added, with a gleam in his yellow eyes._

Revan clenched her hands on her lap. "Canderous—are you--?"

"Nothing has changed," Canderous said. His face was frozen like ice, like rocks. Fixed and unchanging as the stars. "A season for all things." He glanced at Revan but she couldn't read the expression in his eyes. He got up from the couch and crossed his arms, every inch a Mandalorian, even in the ridiculous Jedi costume.

"My people, Clan Ordo." He looked at them all, his wife, his daughter, and the three half-grown warriors behind them. "By the honor of our forefathers I ask you to join us in this worthy battle. What I ask for is not your sacrifice. For this venture is not a sacrifice..." A faint smile crossed his thin lips. "It is a gamble."

"And how will this battle begin, husband?" Gwen still sounded skeptical, but the look in her eyes was almost fond.

Oerin Lin chuckled. "With a party."

_XXX_

_Carth Onasi_

"You left early this morning." Her voice was light, and she looked up from her desk terminal, giving him a cool and neutral smile. Beside her spun the holomap of the Core worlds, with Fleet positions marked in red. Only a few red points, now. Far too few for the war to come. "I thought we'd have breakfast."

"I-I had to get back to Dustil," Carth said. "Before he woke up, I didn't want him think—"

Captain Rew Ekkumi smirked at him. "Think his father didn't come home last night after his date? Carth, Dustil's not a child anymore. He knows how the world works."

"He's been having nightmares. It's just that I worry..."

"And he was fine, wasn't he?"

Carth tried to grin. She'd expect it. "He slapped me on the arm and called me an old dog. Congratulated me. I think he likes you, Rew."

"That's nice," the Admiral said dryly. Her brown eyes considered him. They were remote, not like they'd been the night before. Her hair was pulled back tightly in one long braid that ran down her back. Last night it was loose and hung to her waist. Morgana's hair was the same color but it had never been so long. Her voice was like Morgana's too, and he thought they had the same build, lush and curved under their uniform. He thought they did—his wife's face, her body was like a faded hologram kept too long in the sun. Flicker of a memory, or an echo.

"Where were you this afternoon? We had a meeting with the Telosian Reps." She was still talking.

"I—I had to meet someone." Carth swallowed. "Bastila's mother. She's--she's in bad shape, Rew."

"Still drinking herself to death? Helena Shan has three pensions. One from the Council, one from the Senate and one from the Fleet. Jiya sent her to a hospital a few months back with his own funds too...he served with Bastila, on the _Ascendant,_ during the wars..." Rew shook her head. "It's a shame, it really is. I hope you didn't lend her any credits."

"No." _I just left. The great hero Captain Carth Onasi ran away from a sad drunk._

"Good. When you didn't turn up for the meeting I thought maybe...you'd been down portside," the Captain said carefully.

Carth frowned at her, something sinking in the pit of his stomach.

"Portside? Why?"

"There was some trouble, they've been trying to hush it up, but someone started a rumor that Darth Revan landed. Then the grids went down—the commercial ones have been spotty for days. Fleet was there, CoruSec, Jedi—the only thing they turned up was some old actress who'd had revan surgery for her latest comeback. Seriina Starr. The silly bantha almost got herself shot."

Carth remembered Manaan and the Revan pretenders. "They're sure it wasn't—they're sure it's just an actress?"

Captain Ekkumi laughed. "They're sure now...dragged her off to be genetically scanned. Senator D'Reev is up in arms, one of _his_ productions you know, _Revan, Dark Lord of the Sith, the Real Story,_ or some other blaster crap. There were rumors about the two of them a long time ago—Malachi and Seriina I mean--not...you, know..."

_Her. She's here. The actress was a feint. She's here. It has to be her. That computer could bring down the grids, change docking codes. She's here, Revan's here..._

Suddenly the spacious Fleet office seemed claustrophobic. He was stifling. Carth's wiped the sweat off his forehead.

"You know, even if Revan does come...there are some soldiers who don't think it would be that bad." Captain Rew Ekkumi's voice was so light that he couldn't tell which side of the minefield she stood on.

"She's Sith."

"Her uncle doesn't think so...have you seen the reports from Manaan?"

"I was there." _Blood on her neck where the collar bit so deep, that rattle of her breath in her lungs. I thought she'd die before the trial. I didn't want to lose her...I said I'd be right back... _Carth clenched his fists.

Rew sighed. "You've changed, Carth Onasi." Her commlink beeped and she frowned at it, tapping in an irritated command. "Look, I'm busy now...but, the day after tomorrow, would you like to escort me to a party?"

"A—party?" Carth's mind was elsewhere, thinking about the explosives cache. He'd have to move Dustil, convince Ekkumi to take his son for a while, think up some excuse. But after what she said about Revan—could he really trust her? Perhaps Dustil would be safer with Malachi. The old man would let nothing happen to Malachor, and he could keep Dustil safe as well...Carth would tell Dustil it was part of the plan, part of the trap to lure Revan to them...

_But it's me she'll come for. It's me she knows about. Me and the Jedi Council._

"A party," Rew repeated. "Drinks. Food. Music. Dancing." Her narrow nose wrinkled. "Probably bad drinks and food and music, considering the hosts...but...these are strange times."

"Sure," Carth replied, running on automatic. "Tell me the details tonight? Over dinner? I don't want to keep you." He could borrow a lift to get the explosives back to the conapt. No one would ask questions, half the Fleet already treated him like the walking dead. When they didn't think he noticed, he could see the pity in their eyes, hear their soft whispers. _What she did to me. She destroys everything. I must destroy her._

Would it be tonight, he wondered. Would she come to him tonight? His breath caught in his throat. "Actually tonight, I can't do dinner," he said apologizing. "Dustil and I—"the lie was stiff on his lips. _I'll have to get Dustil out of there. How will she know where to find me? She'll find me, she always finds me. In my dreams she always finds me._

"I didn't ask you to stop by tonight," Rew's military reserve was back. She hesitated. "Look, Carth, last night was wonderful, you were wonderful...but I—I don't think this is good for either of us. I've gotten over Jasin's death, been over it for years...but you...I think you need more time. It's—" her olive skin flushed "—it's awkward to say this, but..."

Carth tried to pretend the emotion he felt wasn't relief. It shouldn't be relief, she was a beautiful woman. "I'm sorry," he tried. "Morgana's death was very hard on me...I've—perhaps you're right, it's too soon—"

_It's been four years now. No—five, almost five._ He tried to remember her face.

"Morgana," she echoed. Rew looked at him, a frown sketched between her straight brows. She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again. She looked away.

Carth changed the subject. "Where's the party?" he asked. He didn't expect to be alive to see it.

"The Mandalorian Embassy. Something about the heir to Mandalore coming here to plea for his people's lives...they're trying to drum up support. It'll be interesting....and you speak their language don't you? I thought you could be my interpreter—unless--" a frown shadowed her face as she remembered where he'd probably learned it.

_"Repeat after me, pilot. Ik'ny'ya republik achin'var infi."_

_'"The Republic dogs sleep with whores,' nice one, Cand.' Don't your people have any curses that don't involve the Republic and whores?"_

_The old warrior cracked his knuckles and stretched. "Not that we'd share with outsiders."_

"I don't—I don't really speak much of it," Carth lied.

_Months in space on the _Hawk._ I learned Mandalorian, some Shyriiwook, Twi'leki, and twenty ways to say 'you don't have to apologize' in Cathar. Juhani was always sorry about something or other, something she thought we'd all take offense at. Almost a year, all of us, together in that ship. Sometimes I thought we'd kill each other, but then Polla would come into the room with her bright smile and make a bad joke. Her jokes were always so terrible, but we all laughed or maybe that was just me because I loved her, I knew I loved her._

_I loved her as early as Taris, but she never knew. No. She—she always knew. _

_"I always knew you loved me, flyboy," Polla said softly. Carth stirred beside her, stroking the silk of her hair, loose from its topknot, tangling his fingers in it. They were on the floor of the cockpit, doors locked and sealed from the inside. He was pretty sure the others knew what they were up to, but he didn't care._

_"I'll always love you, Polla," he said._

"If this is awkward for you or painful, you don't have to come..." Captain Ekkumi looked almost apologetic. "Maybe it was a silly idea. It's fine. I'll go with Jiya..."

"N-no. I'll escort you." Carth cursed the paranoia that made him associate 'Mandalorian' with Canderous—and therefore with Revan. "It's just a bunch of refugees at the Mandalorian Embassy, isn't it?" Carth asked. The ache in his chest was guilt, maybe. That was better than regret.

Rew nodded. "Women and children, for the most part, yes. A delegation from their homeworld." Her eyes met his in complicit understanding. Captain Ekkumi had been at Weis. _They'd carpet-bombed Weis, targeting civilian populations, before the Fett's armada drove them back out of the sector. Back to Althir where the tide turned again._

He remembered Dustil's words to him on Korriban.

_"How many mothers have you killed, Father?"_

'I'll come," Carth repeated. _If I'm still alive. _"Rew—I'm sorry that things..."

"Sorry that you're still in love with someone else?" Her voice was cool. "You said her name, Carth—when, you know..." A blush tinted her olive skin.

"Morgana's death was—I loved her so much..."

"Right. I know you did. Love Morgana. I loved Jasin." Rew Ekkumi blinked her eyes suddenly, very hard. "Look, I consider you a friend. If there's ever anything you want to talk about, anything at all, I'm here for you." She tilted to her head to the side and stared him down. "It wasn't Morgana's name you said."

"I have to go." The room was claustrophobic, he was sweltering. He felt like he was running a fever.

"I'll send a car for you around sixteen hundred, day after tomorrow." Rew said. Her attention was already back on her console. "Take care of yourself, Carth."

"You too."

He left her there. If he'd stayed he'd have asked her what name he'd said.


	18. Mandalorian Life

A/N at end. (This is the revised version with A/N)

Chapter 18

**Mandalorian Life**

XXX

_Dustil Onasi_

This was supposed to be his new room. His new room for this new life he and Father were never going to have. The Senator and his father and his father's friends were very generous, but Dustil hadn't bothered to unpack most of the new things he'd been bought. He had a closet full of new clothes, an Ophini Mach VII in the garage downstairs, a shiny new console, chips of all the latest vids, and a room full of subtle, expensive black lacquered furniture. Everything in their apartment was new and beautiful and cost more credits than he'd ever known existed.

It wasn't very clear why they were suddenly rich, but Dustil assumed it one of the old man's games. That Senator. That Senator gave him the creeps almost as much as his dead ghost son and the kid. Or his own father...at least Father was finally...getting back into the cockpit, as it were. He hadn't come home last night. Probably Captain Ekkumi, she'd been friends with them back on Telos.

Her son was in the same class as Dustil and Selene. When the bombs dropped, he got a piece of shrapnel caught in his skull.

It took him a week to die.

Dustil closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had a--call it a hunch. A feeling. Maybe it was from Mekel, or maybe not. He'd felt something this afternoon. Just for a moment, just for a second, like a stone falling in pool of still water. A ripple and then gone.

_Mekk?_

_Mekel?_

Nothing. Dustil closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

_Feel the Force around you. Feel the swirl of emotions and rage and hate like chords in a familiar song. Feel it sing, with every life and every death, and take its power into yourself. Let it build, and use it, shape it. The Force is your weapon, your path. Finding a life, one particular life isn't that hard, not if you know the note it sings._

_Lessons from Dreshdae.__ Sith Assassination 101._

Reaching out in the Force was like flying in the wind--but somewhere, far away, he could hear the right note, like a chord, or one bright thread in a cloth, and once he'd found it again, it wasn't so hard to reach the other boy. Not hard at all...

_Mekk?_

_Dustil?_A wary mix of emotions, surprised hope, maybe a little fear.

_Where are you, Mekel?_

_I'm fine. Are you--are you okay, Telos?_

That wasn't an answer at all of course.

_Great._Dustil tried to make that thought enthusiastic. _We just moved into our new conapt. So listen, where are you?_

_You're as subtle as a Zeltron in season..._

Dustil pushed harder, he was stronger than Mekel, and if he pushed he could see through the other boy's eyes again. He pushed...and saw a blank featureless wall. A real wall, it could have been anywhere. White. Plasteel maybe. Or plimfoam. Dimly, he felt Mekel's amusement.

_So, what do you want? She wants to talk to you._

_Revan?_

_Huh? How would I know? I meant Mission. Dustil, Mission wants to talk to you._

_She's dead! _Dustil took a deep breath and tried not freak out again. Not cry again. Burn all of the emotions away into a pure net of rage and power...somewhere Mekel cowered under the assault.

_Poor Dustil._He could feel Mekel's head hurting – he'd pushed the older boy too hard, but Mekel wasn't frightened, he was just angry. _Poor Dustil sitting in the clouds, plotting his revenge with his braindead father.__ You're a fracking idiot, Telos. Look, she's upset, you've upset her and she wants to talk to you. How can you be so dense?_

_How can you? That isn't Mission. It's a thing!_

_Whatever you say.__ Look. Meet us at _Mom's_. Tonight. Give me...four hours. We have to talk. You still remember the way there, don't you?_

_Yes._

_Try not to dress up in your new duds, Dustil; I wouldn't want you to get rolled or something._

_You're with Revan, aren't you? _Dustil pushed again, pushed harder, and Mekel fought back. Somewhere Mekel bit his lip so hard that Dustil could taste the blood, feel the sharp pain of it, and someone was asking Mekel what was wrong, a girl's voice with an accent he couldn't quite place and Mekel was slamming his fist in the floor and the pain hurt so much, it felt like broken bones and the barriers slammed shut between them again and—and Dustil opened his hand. The knuckles were white, darkening to a bruise already and it hurt like hell.

"I said, the Senator wanted you to come for dinner tonight Dustil..."

_How long has he been standing there?_

Dustil stood up and turned around. Carth looked a lot better; he'd shaved and was wearing a more normal Republic uniform, meaning much less gold braid, but still that ugly red and yellow. And he was smiling, but the eyes were dead like they always were, and his aura pulsed around him, dull and black and full of pain. It had looked a little better this morning, Dustil thought, as if whatever he'd been up to the night before made him almost happy, but now it was rotting and bad and black again. He willed himself not to see it.

"What were you doing, son?" His father was trying to act normal, as if any of this was normal.

"You want me out of the way for a hot date, Dad?" Dustil made himself smile.

"Something like that." Carth shifted uncomfortably. Their eyes locked.

_I don't want to leave him, but Mekel knows where she is. I know he does. Revan's here...and that Mission...thing. She's just a droid. I can make Mekel show me where Revan is. I'm stronger than he is._

"Captain Ekkumi, huh?"

"Yep," Carth stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor. "So, listen...tonight at the Senator's...you—you be kind to Korrie, okay? He's just a kid. It's not his fault that everything..."

"Yeah I know that."

"I love you, Dustil." Carth swallowed. "You're a good kid, yourself."

"I'm not a kid."

His father shivered. It wasn't exactly pleasant making your old man shiver.

"The Senator's sending a car for you in an hour. You-you probably shouldn't walk there, security's kind of tight right now."

"I'd like to take the Mach; I don't really get to drive her much..."

He'd only had the speeder for four days. They'd driven it twice together. Once upon a time Dustil had dreamed of having a speeder like this. Now, he didn't really care. The Mach was a means to an end.

_Can't really drive to sub-47 anyways.__ I can park her in the tunnel-park on twenty, I guess._

"If that's what you want, it's fine." His father smiled. "She's fast, so be careful."

"Of course."

"What's wrong with your hand?"

Dustil pulled it away and shoved it in the pocket of his jacket so fast that it hurt. Hell, it felt like he _had _broken something. It was going to swell up too, he could tell.

XXX

_Mekel Jin_

"What's wrong with your hand, Mekel?" the former Dark Lord of the Sith sounded worried.

_Oh shit._

_--You dork, what did you do, Mekel Jin?—_

"Shut up, Blue, please."

Mission did. The conversation with Dustil had left Mission a little freaked too, he could tell. He'd been whispering Telos' responses to her, and hearing both of them shrieking in his mind while he stared at that damn wall until he thought he'd go insane.

"Millifar came and got me...when you started screaming..."

_I was screaming?_

_"_Your lip is bleeding..." She took a piece of cloth from the pocket of her robe and wiped it away.

"Thanks," he said, pulling the cloth away from her quickly. The expression in her green eyes was creepily concerned. He backed closer to the wall.

"What did you do?" she repeated, reaching for his hand. It was bruised where he'd slammed it into the duracrete floor. Felt like some of the small bones were broken. Small bones in the hand were great to break, they'd learned in interrogation class. Small bones in the hands and feet.

Mekel opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She frowned, a delicate line between her two red arched brows.

"Look," Revan said briskly, "whatever it is, just tell me. Was it one of the Mandalorians? I can't tell them you're not a slave, but they won't hurt you...if they do, they have to deal with me."

"Why can't you tell them I'm not a slave?"

Revan grimaced. "Mandalorian slaves have more rights and more access than Mandalorian guests. As a guest, you couldn't move this freely...they're...odd about things."

"Well it wasn't them, okay?" Mekel pulled his hand away and shrugged. A shooting pain went up his wrist. He tried not to grimace. "I did it to myself."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"To break a Force bond." Mekel felt like kicking himself for telling her, but Mission knew, so maybe she knew anyways. He wasn't sure. Blue was being helpfully silent. He didn't think he could deal with both of them.

"Dustil."

It wasn't a question. He nodded, hesitantly.

"To stop him from knowing..."

"He knows you're here on Coruscant—I think. I think he wants to kill you."

"Because he believes I did this to his father?" The smooth calm in her face vanished. Suddenly Revan looked really vulnerable, and not much older than he was. Of course that was a lie.

"No—he's not that dumb..." How could _she_ be this dumb? "Because of Mission."

"Oh," she whispered. Her voice was very small and she stared at her hands. "No wonder he hates me," she said, almost to herself. "Maybe all of this is a fool's game. I destroy everything I touch, everything I love...how can I even think..."

"He needs you. The kid, Malachor."

"Did you see my son?" Her expression was fierce, almost hungry. Mekel shrank back.

"N-not exactly, Dustil was there, with the kid and—and you know..."

"I don't. Know. Anything."

"Malak."

Her face was a frozen mask. The face she'd had in the tombs on Korriban when Jorak Uln made them taste the lightning, over and over again.

Mekel took a deep breath. "It was really Malak I saw, more than the kid, I don't know the kid...your son—I mean we saw him once in the library but—Malak was—Malak is—"

"Dead."

"I think he can't get through to you, he's tried but he—" Mekel didn't want to tell her how many times he'd called for Darth Malak when everyone else was fast asleep in the Embassy. But the Dark Lord never answered.

"He's dead. I killed him." Her words sounded dead too. "I hated him. I killed him. He's dead."

"Yes, but—"

"I had dreams about him, but they were just dreams, just my mind making sense of shattered memories, memories I was too frightened to face. Do you understand?"

"No, he's real. Malak and the kid—"

She took a deep breath. "Did you know my—did you know Malak?"

"He sponsored me at the Academy. He found me on Coruscant and took me to Korriban."

"He was important to you."

"He was, he—was kind to me. H-he founded the Academy and I was one of the first students, I always hoped—" Mekel swallowed. It sounded so stupid now. So stupid and pointless. "I always hoped someday I'd be his Apprentice."

_But he picked Bandon, the asshole._

"Looking back, I mean I'm not dumb, I was just a Force-sensitive kid he recruited into the Sith, but I never had a father and he—"

_I'd never seen the stars, and sometimes, when he was in a good mood on the way to Korriban, the big man would tell me about them. The worlds he'd seen. The hole in his jaw festered and it got harder and harder for him to talk. All that power, and we couldn't do anything, couldn't mend anything. And sometimes, sometimes, the big man cried._

Her eyes scanned his face. "You couldn't have been very old, when this happened."

"I was twelve."

"Gods, that's young for Sith." Revan closed her eyes and clenched her fists.

"The Jedi take kids even younger than that."

When her face grew pale you could see shadows on it, almost like scars, where the Sith lines had been. Faint, like a tracery of silver. In some strange way, Mekel thought they made her beautiful.

"They don't teach them to kill," she said softly. "Not the ones that haven't already learned how." She blinked, as if bringing herself back to the present. "Your hand is injured."

"Yeah, I'll be fine, I'll just..." _put some ice on it and pretend its kolto._

"Let me see it." She reached for his hand, and spread out the fingers, ignoring the hiss of pain that he tried to quell.

"No." Mekel said flatly, pulling it back. He remembered the tombs and Jorak Uln, and that man—Dustil's father. Carth Onasi.

_Didn't she know her power...wasn't the healing kind?_

"Do you know any way I can keep Dustil out of my head besides breaking my fingers?" Mekel gave her a twisted smile, trying to distract her.

"Stop him from reading your thoughts, through the bond, you mean?" Revan was still staring at his hand. She ran her own nervously through her short cap of red hair.

"Yes."

"Do you speak any languages? Obscure ones, complicated ones."

"Only ancient Sith."

"Conjugate verbs in it."

"Huh?"

"Laa'kai mmm tchevno. Laa'kai mmm techevna. La'kai mo tchev....and so on."

"I am strong. She is strong. They are strong...I don't get it."

"Doesn't matter what you say, just make a noise out of it. A noise like a wall that they can't get through. Sometimes I'd recite the Corellian Spire jump points, over and over again..."

"It this some kind of Jedi thing?"

"I don't know. I—came up with myself. To keep Bastila out of my mind." Her expression was remote. "I nearly gave myself a concussion slamming my skull into the bulkheads before I thought of it."

"Oh." Mekel didn't know what to say. She was holding something in her hand that she'd pulled out of her pocket, staring at the floor, as if he wasn't even there anymore.

_--We need to go, chuba face. Make some excuses.—_

"I—have to go," Mekel got to his feet.

"Go?" Revan raised an eyebrow, standing up herself. "Go where? The Council and D'Reev are after you, Mission said. You can't leave, it's not safe."

Mekel laughed, nervous. She made him nervous. She was hiding the Force now so completely that he couldn't even sense her through it; but there was something about her that was still..._her. _"They won't find me, I've been hiding out here just fine for the last six months...and where I'm going, they don't even know how to look. I have to see some...friends." He hoped Moms wasn't going to be mad again. Or ask for the credits he'd promised to pay her _not_ to turn him in.

"We need money," he murmured to Blue.

_--Hard currency is a little difficult for me to come by, but don't worry, Big Z is bringing some.--_

"Big Z is coming?" He'd said that louder than he meant to. Revan frowned.

"Hey sis," Mission herself rolled into the room, her chassis freshly polished, followed by the Wookiee. Zaalbar had two vibroblades strapped to his back, and a bandolier's harness across his chest. And a blaster.

_All dressed up for a night on the underground._

The former Dark Lord of the Sith crossed her arms and shook her head. "No," she said. "Whatever mad scheme you've planned, Mission, the answer is no."

The T3 rattled something at her in a language Mekel didn't know, and Revan responded in kind. Mission's voice got louder, and more argumentative, and Revan flinched, suddenly.

"And if you get captured? If they get killed? This is an insane risk, Mission. You can't go after Dustil!"

Zaalbar interrupted, groaning loudly and gesturing with a heavy claw. Revan's hand closed around whatever she was holding, white-knuckled, and she looked at the floor. Whatever the Wookiee said made the former Dark Lord of the Sith look absolutely defeated. "Fine," she said. "Go. But if any of you get hurt, I swear I'll flay the flesh from your bones."

"I'll-flay-the-flesh-from-your-bones," Mission said, in a perfect imitation of Revan's voice. "Nice one, I'll have to use that. Get your coat, Mekk."

"Sure thing, Blue."

Mekel went back to the room they'd given him to grab the things they'd need. He wrapped his hand with an ice pack and some bandages from the infirmary, and slipped on the heavy bantha-hide long coat Mission had made him buy, still wincing at the pain in his hand. The coat was a little too nice for the underground—but _Mom's_ saw all kinds, and he figured they wouldn't get rolled on the way with the Wookiee. Wookiees were rare on Coruscant, but there were a few, here and there. They were legendary muscle. There were so many sents from so many worlds underground, that no one really noticed you twice unless you looked like an easy roll. With the Wookiee, they wouldn't be. He slipped the print-outs from the library in his pocket. Maybe, if things went well, Dustil would like to see them.

When he came back to the front room of the Embassy, Revan was still standing there. The expression on her face was almost wistful. "I should come with you. "

"No way Polla-Revan. It's like Bastila walking into the Sith Embassy on Manaan. If any of us get caught, we're small fish."

Revan shook her head, pacing, "I don't like this." From the other room came the sound of cheers. Someone had won another fight. That meant there'd be another fight. And then another. The Mandalorians were tiresomely predictable. Her head jerked in that direction and she sighed.

"Don't you have more Mandalorian butt to kick tonight anyways, sis?"

"Oerin's fighting them all now," Revan said. "It'll be a while...I don't like this, Mission," she repeated. Her eyes rested on Mekel's for a moment and then she looked away too fast. She looked guilty.

_--Want to lay a bet, sith-wannabe? Don't answer that, not in front of her, just move to the door. What do you think, is she gonna follow us or is she going to sneak out and go groundside?—_

"Be careful," Mekel said. It wasn't what he meant to say, the words just came out.

Revan looked startled. And even more guilty. "You too," she said.

Zaalbar growled something and they went to the doors. The automated sentry droids clicked and the corusteel plating slid open. The Mandalorian Embassy was just the fifteenth floor of an old office building full of colonial embassies on the down and out, but they'd fortified the inside of it like a bunker.

"You think she's going to follow us?" Mekel frowned, glancing back nervously.

Zaalbar groaned and shook his head.

"Big Z thinks she'll go groundside. He's probably right..."

"Groundside, where?"

"Either to Carth or D'Reev's building."

"But...but—I thought, but that's..."

"Insane? Yeah. Don't worry. We've accounted for it. And I mean, she is her."

"It just seems rash. I mean, she's—_Revan_..." Mekel lowered his voice, even though they were in alone in the elevator now and Mission had already scanned it for bugs.

"No." Mission's voice was colder suddenly, almost mechanical. "Revan wouldn't have let us walk out of there. Revan might storm the gates to take her son or Carth, but not without some kind of plan. She's not just Revan, she's Polla too. Polla...well it's _exactly_ the kind of thing she'd do."

"You're not worried?" Mekel didn't really understand what she meant. Mission was talking about Polla as if she was another person.

"Didn't I mention it's taken care of? We won't let her screw this up. That's like, our job."

XXX

_Canderous Ordo_

"You will _not_ ask her that." Telling Gwenarius, first wife of Clan Ordo not to do something was like pissing in wind on the plains of Hrukar, but he had to try.

"It's none of your concern, husband," Aemelie snapped. "This is women's business." Deftly, she adjusted her son in her arms, so the babe could nurse from her other breast.

Gwen just folded her arms and glared at him. Their daughter, still too young to be named, was sleeping in the crib at the foot of their sleeping pallets.

Both of the children were strong, and would probably live to their naming days. Canderous felt a sense of pride in that.

_Even though I had nothing to do with it._

_You've been among the barbarians too long, Ordo. There was a time when you wouldn't have even wondered, wouldn't have even thought. Bringing children into the world is women's business. These are your wives, and so these are your children. Where the seed came from is irrelevant._

Their son wrinkled his face and started to squall. Canderous put down the tray of tea on the low table. "Let me calm him," he said, taking the boy from Aemelie. The babe was dark-skinned, with a fuzz of curly black hair and blue eyes that were changing to black. He let the child curl a fist around his finger and bounced him on his knee.

This was no time for a proper tenting—and the girl-child was too old for that anyways; but it was his responsibility to stay here with them, as much as he could, to learn these children and re-learn these women he had taken to wed. A thing for all seasons, tenting was a celebration of life and the continuity of the clan.

_Of all things I expected to find on Coruscant, I did not expect this. _He pressed his lips to the babe's forehead, and held him against his shoulder, patting the boy's back until he burped.

Gwen watched him, a faint smile on her face. "The outlander Lin would have strong children, Canderous. Children for Ordo."

"She owes us lives, for the ones she took," said Aemelie.

"She won't understand." Canderous didn't know why he bothered arguing with them. "She's pledged to another."

"Barbarians remarry, after their mate dies," Gwen argued. "We've been here long enough to know that. Surely enough time has passed..."

"She's pledged to the pilot, Captain Onasi. The man you've seen on the broadcasts."

Aemelie shrugged uncomprehendingly. "Onasi spoke against her. He hates her, doesn't he? Surely, that negates any vows they might have made."

Canderous sighed and stroked the boy-child's tiny back, shifting his weight on the floor and crossing his legs.

Gwenarius Ordo smiled at him fondly. "I'll ask her tomorrow. If she says no, she says no." It had been hard enough getting Gwen not to challenge Revan—and therefore Clan Lin--for the title of Mandalore in the middle of the starport. Canderous supposed he should be grateful his wife's thoughts had moved on to a different, although no less predictable, path. "Don't forget your place. This business is between her and us."

_May the gods place me elsewhere when you ask Revan to join Clan Ordo as my third wife. Please._

"She's not unattractive, for a barbarian, and she fights like one of our own. She defeated Fett Cassus Lin. She defeated all of us...even if her ways weren't entirely honorable. Tactically, they were brilliant. If she beds like she fights she'd be enjoyable for you. You've followed her for over a year, Canderous of Ordo. Surely you can't tell me you've never once considered..." Aemelie's voice trailed off, and she looked at her husband uncomprehendingly, her brown eyes wide in surprise.

"You think he's never bedded her?" Gwen looked shocked.

"Of course he hasn't—you can tell that by watching them fight. But surely he wants to..."

He'd fought Revan to a draw in the battle circle. That was something they'd pre-arranged, after she beat the Lin whelp in it. And then she'd fought all of the others—unblooded boys and no real challenge for her. Among the men, that was enough to tie Ordo to Lin, and therefore all of the other sub-clans, and the remnants of Rialis and Zal. But women's business was a different thing entirely.

"You haven't suffered any injuries, have you?" Gwen squatted down next to him, and reached for the belt on his robe.

He batted her hand away. "The babe is sleeping! No. I am intact. And what I think about Revan—as a woman—is irrelevant. She does not desire me, do you understand? She and I settled that long ago."

_On Taris._

_The Deralian spun, twisting her double-bladed vibroblade to meet his counter with a clash of cortosis steel. Sparks flew from the impact. Her feet moved in a dance he knew only too well. Women were smaller and faster than men, and their patterns in the battle circle reflected this. What surprised Canderous was to see a barbarian who knew these steps. And yet, a part of him was pleased._

Somewhere, the teachings of my people live on, even after we have passed from memory. Someone must have taught Polla Organa the old dance.

_"Are there Mandalorians, on Deralia?" he asked her, moving more slowly and solidly to meet her attack._

_"Huh?"_

_They were in Davik Kang's estate with her companion the pilot, in the training room off the guest suites. The pilot sat on the sidelines, watching them fight. He was no match for them with blades, and he knew it. Out of the corner of his eye, Canderous noted the scowl on the man's face, and the way his eyes never left her lithesome figure._

_She was attractive; there was no question about that. Her breasts heaved becomingly under the bodice of her jumpsuit. Her waist was narrow, and her hips flared underneath, tapering to shapely muscular legs. She was more slender than any of his wives, but it was a slimness built for the fight, not a weakness. Her topknot flared in the air as she leapt towards him again, a grin on her face as their blades met one more time._

_"You fight like one born to it," he said, wondering if she would understand._

_"I trained with blasters and rifles and throwing knives since I was a kid," she answered, pausing. She wiped the sheen of sweat from her face with the sleeve. "All Deralians do, in case someone tries to invade us..."_

_"Those things have their uses," Canderous said approvingly, "but it's the sword that you fight well with."_

_A puzzled frown crossed her face and she stared at the double-bladed vibroblade in her hands as if she'd never seen it before._

_"I guess I'm talented," she shrugged and looked at him. "Are all Mandalorians so...so--polite?" Her green eyes glinted._

_He hesitated, unsure if he'd misunderstood. Barbarian women were odd, one had to tread carefully. Of course among the Clans, only women mated with outsiders—usually. But now, things had changed. And she was not unattractive, this barbarian. She moved like a Mandalorian. In a way, she reminded him of home. A home lost to him forever, and a way of life that was ground into dust._

_"Perhaps you'd like to join me in the massage room?" he said politely. "Davik has a good supply of oils and your muscles must be stiff. We've been at this for hours. My people have made an art of massage, as well as fighting."_

_"Huh?" Her attention had wandered past him already, and she was looking at the pilot. And the pilot was looking at her. _Oh._ She sheathed the vibrosword in the strap across her back and tugged at her jumpsuit, smoothing it down. Her fingers fiddled restlessly with the tail of hair that hung from her neatly-shorn scalp. A faint frown crossed her face and she tore her eyes away and back to his._

_"Are you...are you hitting on me, Canderous Ordo?"_

_"Your choice," he said. His voice came out rough._

_"Um..." She looked uncertain suddenly. Behind them on the sidelines, the pilot scowled. He got to his feet and came over to them, his hands curled on his blasters. Canderous noted the automatic soldier's stance in the man's walk, the alertness in his eyes. _Republic-trained_ Well, that made sense—after all, they'd rescued that Jedi woman, Bastila Shan._ Of course he's Republic.

_"Is he bothering you, Polla?" The pilot glowered at him. That was nothing new. Ever since he'd met the man two days ago in Javyar's cantina, when she came back with the codes from the Sith base, the man had been glowering at him. _

_"It's none of your business, _Republic,"_ Canderous shot back._

_"You say that like it's an insult, _Mandalorian_." The man's hands were on his blasters, half-drawn._

_Polla looked oddly apologetic. The tip of her nose blushed pink. "We were just practicing, Carth. Not that I have to explain that—or anything to you, you Gamorrean pigman."_

_The pilot grinned at her, "Don't get frisky with the hired help, beautiful. Mercs can't be trusted. Especially Mandalorians."_

_She grinned back. "Frisky, I'll show you frisky, you hairless Wookiee!" Polla reached behind her back and drew her sword out in one smooth movement. Even though his chances of getting anywhere seemed increasingly slim, Canderous couldn't help but admire the simplicity of her form, the perfect balance of her stance. She seemed entirely unaware of it. Then he felt a dull shock of surprise as he realized what she was about to do._

_Her sword point grazed the edge of the pilot's cheek, etching a faint half circle, just a small scratch that didn't break the skin. The man didn't budge, but his eyes widened._

_"What are you doing, gorgeous?" he asked her, voice carefully even._

_"Marking her claim," Canderous murmured. Someone had trained her well. He could understand her reticence in discussing it, but the dance was as old as the stars that had once been their empire. "I'll be going now," he said to the empty air. The pilot and the smuggler stood there, eyes locked. He might has well have been in a different galaxy._

_Two weeks later on the way to Dantooine, he asked her politely if she wanted his assistance in counseling the pilot for the marriage bed. He got a right hook to the jaw and a stream of Deralian curses for his efforts. Of course, he realized now, she really did have no idea what he was talking about._

"...ask her in the morning," Gwen continued. "We need to finish the preparations for this accursed festival the Lin slave said that we have to hold. I really think that would be the perfect time for her to mark him—once the barbarian Coruscanti dogs leave of course...if she agrees to the union."

"Of course she'll agree!" Aemelie said. "There's no reason why she can't have the pilot too, after all. If that's what she really wants." She looked speculative, almost dreamy. "Captain Onasi's rather handsome. Do you supposed she'd—"

"You'll embarrass her," Canderous broke in, gritting his teeth in exasperation. It was hopeless. Some things they would never understand.

A soft knock on the door saved him from further humiliation. He'd been expecting it. Canderous got to his feet; shifting the weight of his son in his arms and feeling his joints creak with the familiar stiffness. "Enter."

His daughter Millifar opened the door.

"Five minutes ago, Father, as you said. She took the larger droid with her, the one that keeps growling in that Wookiee's tongue." Her chin lifted, pride in having an assignment overcoming her dislike of him. "We're ready to move out, at your command. Kex, Shadrak and Abatar and I are going. I chose them because they're the best hunters. I hope that meets with your approval."

"The tracking devices?"

"She found and disabled the one in the droid, but she carries her lightsaber and she's wearing the holomask the Lin slave bought. So we have two." She handed him a comm link with a map of Coruscant scrolling across the screen. A green light flashed on it. From his studies of the city's systems, it appeared to be in one of the underground tubes the people of this world used for transport.

"The Lin slave and the Wookiee left shortly before with the smaller droid," she added.

Canderous raised an eyebrow, but kept his thoughts to himself. _What game are you playing, Zaalbar? Well--it was the Wookiee's business. The computer has been useful to us, thus far—despite my concern about its loyalties. The two of them can surely handle whatever task they've set for themselves. Zaalbar can keep the computer in line. It listens to him. The Sith boy doesn't look promising, but he's inconsequential._

"Follow Revan, as I instructed. Use stealth, don't be seen—but if she tries to enter either address we spoke about, hit her with the trank gun and get her out of there fast...the droid..." Canderous frowned. HK might prove to be a problem. Although they'd disabled his lethal capacity, the droid was good at improvisation.

"I'm not afraid of a droid, Father." Her lip lifted in the arrogant sneer of youth.

"Then you are foolish. That droid slaughtered all of Clan Lin, save one."

"Save two," Millifar corrected him. "Revan and Oerin Lin." She was much like her mother. Once they'd accepted Revan was Lin, they thought she was one of them. He didn't think they understood how much she did not—would not—understand.

"Go—" Canderous said. "Be swift and silent, and do not overstep my orders."

"The dosage you gave us for the gun is far too much for her body mass." Millifar's eyes narrowed and she pulled on her braids. "Did you want me to recalibrate it?"

"It's the right dosage. She's a Jedi, they're hard to drug." _As I learned on those weeks on the _Hawk. "Go—in this you bring honor to our Clan."

His daughter was a capable girl, and the pups weren't bad warriors. The door closed again and he glanced back at his wives. Aemelie reached out her arms and he gave their son to her.

Gwenarius pulled out an old battered shipping container from under the bed, and unsealed it. "Your brother's armor, husband. I assume you'd like to wear it when you go after them?"

_Even after all these years, she knows me so well._

"I can talk the droid down," Canderous muttered, ashamed for doubting his own blood's abilities. "Probably." He slipped out of the robes he wore and began to put on the armor. Gwenarius gave him a slow lazy smile.

"That thing really slaughtered all of Lin?" Aemelie looked impressed. "Such a device would be an asset to Clan Ordo."

Canderous strapped on his swords and the battered old repeater that had always brought him luck. Considering, he selected a small ion blaster from the stack of weapons they'd brought from Manaan and strapped it to his thigh.

"I'll ask her in the morning," Gwenarius said again. She came to him, cool fingers tracing the line of his jaw. Her lips met his with a small spark. He kissed her deeply, in the formal style of two tongues locked and a small bite on her lower lip. She shivered. "Come back soon, husband."

"You have our permission to go," Aemelie added formally, watching them. Her chestnut hair was loose on her shoulders, like a soft cloud.

"Just try and manage to come back," Gwenarius said. "We've missed you, Canderous Ordo."

XXX

_Carth Onasi_

The conapt felt so empty with Dustil gone. Carth watched the sun fade through the clouds, an orange glow darkening to a red, vivid as her hair. The tumbler of Corellian brandy—a gift from the Senator—was half empty. He thought about poor drunk Helena Shan and did not refill it.

He'd been so sure that Revan would come.

Restless, Carth paced.

_I loved a smuggler named Polla Organa. She turned into the Dark Lord of the Sith. And she'll come for me._

In his dreams she always came. Sometimes looking like the Deralian he'd pulled from the escape pod on Taris, sometimes looking like the Sith Lord he'd saved on the Star Forge. Sometimes she looked like the woman he'd loved on Kashyyyk, growing thinner and paler and weaker, until it made his heart break.

_Like Morgana in the hospital on Telos. And nothing I could do. No, nothing like Morgana. I should have let her just die on Kashyyyk._

In his dreams she always came for him and said the same lying words_. "I love, you. Someday when this is all over..."_

He made himself try and think about Rew Ekkumi instead. She was clever and their sons used to play together. She was beautiful, like Morgana had been beautiful. She was everything he could want in a woman.

_And she told you to take a hike, Onasi. She said you're in love with someone else._

_I _am_ in love with someone else._

Carth stared at the comm terminal. Would the doorman announce her? Or would she burst into the room? He fingered the hunk of permacrete in his pocket, hand resting lightly on the detonator key. It would be quick, it would have to be quick or she'd destroy him.

The commlink beeped and he nearly blew up the conapt.

Heart in his throat, he went to the terminal and sat down cautiously in front of it. General Jiya Sand's face appeared on the screen. The Seroccan's lined features were grave, as they always were, but his eyes were kind.

"Rew asked me to call you," he said. "Are you—"

"I'm fine," Carth muttered.

"She said you might want to talk to another man about things..." Jiya looked uncomfortable.

"I don't."

They both looked relieved.

"In any case, I wanted to let you know that the Jedi Council has requested that we meet with them. It's really you they want to see, but they seem to be going through several Fleet branches at once trying to get to you."

_The Jedi..._ Carth clenched his fists.

"I'm not interested," he said, trying to keep his voice cool.

"Master Vrook gave a speech a few hours ago to the Selkath newsvids. It didn't get wideband broadcast—it won't get wideband broadcast—but—he mentioned you."

_Revan's uncle.__ Was he a traitor too?_

Carth kept his voice steady. "What did he say?"

"That you've been brainwashed as part of some conspiracy to discredit the actions of his heroic niece." General Jiya's eyes didn't blink. "I thought you should know."

Dull laughter bubbled in his throat. "He's calling her his niece now?" _He never admitted it publicly before..._

"Yes." As with Ekkumi, Carth felt a twinge of unease, as if the man was watching for his reaction a little too carefully. The twinge of paranoia was reflexive.

"She's _Darth Revan," _he said angrily.

"I was there with Bastila when we stormed her flagship, Captain. I know what she was."

"What she is, you mean."

"Yes--of course." The General looked down at his desk, thumbing through some paperwork. "Well...Ekkumi asked me to check on you, and seem fine...so...I don't want to keep you, Captain. You're coming to that Mandalorian thing with us?"

"I'll come, yes. Is—" a thought occurred to him. "Is Ekkumi okay?"

General Jiya Sand frowned. "She's fine, Carth."

Another hour passed, and somehow he finished the tumbler of brandy despite his earlier resolution, staring out the window at the Coruscanti moons and the kilometer-high spires that soared around him reaching towards the stars. He'd changed out of the Fleet uniform, and pulled on some battered, familiar clothes. Somehow, that seemed like the right thing to do. Something tugged at his thoughts, memories he didn't want to recall.

_The moss was soft on his bare back and she lay sprawled across his chest. She was snoring, gently, and her eyes moved under dark-lined lids. She was dreaming._

_"Revan," he whispered in her ear, drinking in the smell of her skin. The towering trees soared above them; they'd been here on Kashyyyk for a week now. _

_"Not Revan," she mumbled sleepily, nestling her head in his chest. Her neck looked so pale and fragile above the weight of the Baragwin collar. "Don wanna be her, it hurts..."_

_"Polla..."_

_"Mmmm?"__ She rolled off him and curled against his side, still asleep. The sunlight filtered down, bathing them in green and gold._

_I fell in love with a woman named Polla Organa._

"Polla Organa is real." He said the words out loud, as if they had just occurred to him, but in reality it was a thought he'd had more than once this past week.

_Before I face Revan.__ Before I kill her, I have to know. I have to..._

Hardly knowing what he was doing, Carth found himself in front of the comm terminal.

"FTL transmit," he said to it. "Deralian directory assistance."

The screen wavered, and resolved into a flat holostill, a yellow plain under a red sun. Farmland, simple and clean.

_"I grew up on a kissra sheep farm on Derra, that's the biggest continent. We lived in the middle of it. It was boring, and I knew that someday I'd get off that rock...I always knew I'd have this grand destiny and meet a handsome pilot..."_

_"Ah, so you _do_ think I'm handsome! Finally you admit it!"_

_"And vain," she murmured, staring him down so frankly that he almost wanted to blush. "Let's get this serum back to the doctor. I hope you realize he's gonna pay us in gizka or something equally worthless." She rolled her eyes, but he'd already learned it was more for effect than actual sentiment. "The Exchange guy offered us a better deal but we have to make these sacrifices for the bloody fracking Republic..."_

_"Hey, you signed up to this mission, sister!"_

_Polla made a face. "I had a head injury, it shouldn't count. It was under duress or something." She smirked._

Try as he did, he couldn't remember the name of the town. Maybe she'd never told him.

_Welcome to the Deralian Directory, Sentient. Please type in your request._

Carth's hand shook. _Polla Organa, Derran continent._

A stream of names filled the screen. He scrolled down through them, looking for something that would give him a clue.

_Polla Organa, Jinnistown, Derra; Polla Organa, Keene, Derra; Polla Organa, Keene, Derra; Polla Organa, Listi Lowen, Derra; Polla Organa, Listi Mall Derra; Polla Organa..._

The total at the bottom of the search counted 3,865 results. It was a popular name. One of the founders of the original Outlier colony had been named Polla. She'd told him that once.

_Mita Organa_

There were 402 results.

_This is ridiculous, what would you say to her? She probably isn't even there. Why would Polla still be on Deralia? You're chasing a woman who never existed. A woman you've never met._

_What would you even say?_

But there was that letter. Carth got up suddenly and rummaged through the stack of fan mail. He found it crumpled near the bottom, and unfolded it.

_Beya Organa, on Manaan._

"FTL Manaan. Commlink request, Visual transmit."

"Greetings Sentient," a mechanized voice said in Basic.

"Visual request, commlink: Beya Organa."

The screen resolved to an orange-gilled Selkath. "That sentient is in custody, and not available without clearance," the Selkath said. Its translator repeated the words in Basic.

"This is Captain Carth Onasi," His jaw clenched. This was insanity. "Captain Carth Onasi." _Just once, let my so-called fame be good for something. Stars, they banned me from the planet once, they must have my voiceprint on file._

There was a long pause, while the Selkath tapped things in the console in front of it, and looked distressed.

"You have clearance, sentient. Please realize that this call is being monitored. The Deralian citizen Beya Organa is currently imprisoned awaiting trial for murder."

_For killing Sith—how can that be a crime? They let us off with a slap on the wrist. And the Sith kill each other all the time. Something stinks about that Manaan trial. Something isn't right._

_I don't care. I just want to know...know if she's real._

The image resolved into a room, a blue forcefield in the background. The terminal was located in one corner of it, and the woman who appeared in the foreground had her black hair in a Deralian topknot and golden skin. Her eyes were a dark blue that was almost black, and her face was heart-shaped but hard. A soldier's face, with an expression he knew only too well. He saw it in the mirror every morning. Flat and hopeless.

"Captain Carth Onasi?" The edge of her lip curled, incredulous. Off-screen, someone laughed harshly, on the edge of hysteria. Beya's accent was more pronounced than Polla's had ever been. Real Deralian, as flat as farmland. "What d'you want?"

She was, Carth realized, drunker than he was.

"You're Beya Organa," he asked.

"You're Carth Onasi," she said, rolling her eyes. "Yes, and what do you want? Is this about our mutual friend? It's too much to hope you'd be takin an interest in our case...hero of the Republic that you are..."

"Your aunt—asked me to look into it," Carth hesitated. He hadn't been thinking about that at all.

Her eyes narrowed. "My aunt?"

"Mita..." _Auntie Mita._

"She's a cousin, actually, but it figures. She's been writing to everyone. Da's pretty embarrassed about it, so I hear...still it's funny...the way things work out..." she chuckled, but her eyes were hard as stone. "So," she said lightly, "how is old Revvie doin'?"

"Revvie?" It was so unexpected that Carth was confused, as if the name was unfamiliar. _It is. I never called her Revvie._

Beya made a face. "Your girlfriend? Stang, someone sure did a number on you, Captain...they mindwipe you too? Maybe the rumors are true."

Off-screen someone murmured something in a low voice, in a language he didn't understand. Beya turned her head away and muttered back.

"You know her?" he asked stupidly. _Of course she would, she was Sith. All of them, fallen Jedi that Yuthura redeemed if you believe net gossip, or Sith spies if you believe the newsvids._

Beya smiled a hard smile. "_Know_ her? Rev-an. Our Dark Lord of the Sith? The redeemed one? The one who gets off star-bloody free while the rest of us rot with the fish?"

"I didn't call about her," Carth said awkwardly, realizing how this was going to sound. _I'm just killing time until she comes here and I can try to kill her. I just want to know if the woman I fell in love with is real. _He took a deep breath. "I wanted to ask you about Polla."

She snorted inelegantly and covered her mouth with her hand. It was an almost familiar gesture.

"Polla Organa," he repeated. "She—she's real, isn't she?"

"I have six cousins named Polla Organa," Beya said. "But I think I know the one you mean. Yeah, she's real. Da says she's real pissed too. Oh, and she just had a baby, it's a boy." She snorted again and rolled her eyes. "You want to send her a present or something, Captain?"

"Is she..." Carth's voice trailed off. He wasn't sure what he wanted to ask. _Is she happy? Is she well? Married? _

Beya frowned at him. _"Revan _and I were Padawans together. Revan and_ Malak_ and I. I got my knighthood and left the Order for a few years, went back home...and when they called for aid against the Mandalorian threat, I came back. I think I've met my cousin _Polla_ about five times in my life. I wouldn't even remember her if I hadn't heard about what happened. What the Jedi did....On the other hand, _Revan_ and I fought together. In the wars. Do you remember the wars, Captain?"

"Both of them," Carth muttered.

"From my perspective it was one long war...I suppose I owe you an apology for the part of it where we fought on different sides. Do you want me to say I'm sorry now? Would that make it better?" Her voice was mocking. Carth felt a slow burn of anger. He felt like a fool.

"Look, sister, maybe this was a mistake."

"Mistake?" Her voice cracked. "You could help us, Carth Onasi. Force, you _should_ help us. Make _her _help us...if it wasn't for _her_ we'd be..."

"You'd be dead by now, Beya," said a smooth even voice from off-screen. A familiar voice. The last time he'd heard it, he'd been—_no, don't think of Revan in your arms, don't think of the hopes you had. "_You'd be dead by now if it wasn't for _her._ And for me."

Yuthura Ban regarded him, smooth and calm, her violet eyes hard as stones. Only her head tails betrayed her discomfiture, they were curled tightly around her neck. She pushed the Deralian out of the way and sat down at the console.

"So," she said, that expression betraying nothing. "How are you feeling?"

"I-I'm fine," Carth said.

Yuthura frowned at him. "You've looked better. I didn't expect you to call."

_I didn't call you; I only wanted to know about Polla. _But he couldn't say that, he couldn't just say that.

"How are you?" he asked. It was something to say, meaningless. _On trial for your life?__ In jail on Manaan? How did things go after you abandoned my son in the Coruscanti underground? You gave interviews and joined the Jedi. Did you save these Sith or join them?_

The Twi'lek gave him a grim smile. "Holding up. It's not always easy." She took a deep breath. "We should talk..." she began.

XXX

_Revan_

"Query: Master, are we going home?"

"We're just going for a walk, HK." _Or rather a ride._The tube was crowded, and she was smashed against the clumsy silver plates they'd welded over HK's copper chassis. Both of them were sandwiched between two Bithan street musicians and a Duros dressed in a well-cut suit that looked out of place in this part of the tube. There was a strange sense of familiarity to the scene, although she was hard-pressed to imagine the Revan she'd been ever riding public transports.

They were speaking Rakatan. It was the only language she could think of that no one else would understand.

"Tactical Analysis: A well-placed surgical strike into the heart of D'Reev's compound could win us the primary target. But, Master our odds would be better if you'd let me bring more armaments, or some of those Mandalorians. They owe you loyalty and they are efficient fighters, for meatbags."

_No. Even if we did succeed, that's exactly what he'd expect. We'd have the entire planet gunning for us. Malachor wouldn't be safe. I can't risk going anywhere near there. Not yet. But—I want to see—I have to see..._

The window behind them was black and she could see her reflection. Straight yellow hair—garishly yellow and artificial, wide blue eyes and a pouting pink mouth. The lips matched the tight fuchsia jumpsuit, which left so little to the imagination that she'd had to stuff her lightsaber in the matching pink bag, emblazoned with the logo of some fashionable designer. She'd strapped two blasters on her hips, mostly for sentiment. After more than a year of trying to be the marksman that Polla Organa was in her memories, Revan had finally given up.

_I used to think it was the head injury that made me not be able to hit a black trawler in a blizzard in front of a thresher door...but it's not. It's just that I've never been able to hit anything._

_I look ridiculous. I look like the ideal human woman, according to a fourteen-year old Twi'lek girl's taste._

Mission had sent Mekel on shopping expeditions for all of them.

Revan couldn't stop thinking about Zaalbar's words. _He told me it was none of my business. Mission and Zaal said it was between them and Dustil. Zaalbar said I had to respect that. His hand killed her, not mine. For a Wookiee it's that simple. They said that Dustil wants me dead. I should go after them. How can I leave them to deal with Dustil alone? I don't even know where they went..._

_But Mekel said that Malak—_Revan closed her eyes. _Malak's not a ghost. Only my subconscious, telling me truths I was afraid to face._

"Master? If we are going to the Chancellor's District we need to transfer here."

"Clear us a path—without shooting or disabling anyone, HK."

Her droid clanked in disappointment, but complied. They transferred to the crosstown tube and got off a few stops later at Chancellor Station.

There was a maildrop next to the tramway. Revan reached inside her purse and pulled out the package she'd prepared. The hastily scrawled address on it made her pause again. The address had been easy to find from the nets. It wasn't one of the better areas of the planet, some part of her remembered. The name on the front made her bite her lip again, made her hand shake.

She dropped the package inside the slot, and it fell with a heavy thunk.

_That was stupid,_ the rational part of her mind said. _They'll know I'm here anyways,_ she answered it. _I owe her that much._

_You think she'd have wanted that?_

_It was the right thing to do._

The back of her neck prickled, whether from unease or the odd familiarity of being in a place she knew but couldn't remember, Revan wasn't sure. The walls were tiled in pastel mosaics and they rode the tramway up to groundside. The air here smelled sweet, piped in fragrances. Many of the shops were still open, and richly-dressed sentients milled around. Hovering sublims whispered.

A small discrete billboard in the window of a bank building flashed scenes of Republic warships: _Invest in Kuat shipyards and rebuild the Republic. Defeat the Sith threat._

She stopped and stared at the image. It dissolved into a picture of an oribital shipyard; turning slowly above a brown world slashed with white.

_Kuat was important. The main shipyards for the Republic Fleet. If we could hold Kuat, we'd have a position in the Core. We could strike Byss and then Aldaraan. The way to Coruscant would be clear._

_But my Apprentice disobeyed me._

_I should never have left him alone, should never have trusted him with such an important task. I should have killed him. We only had one chance to catch them by surprise and he wasted it on an outer-rim backwater, spun me a fable about tests of loyalty. Once alerted, we had no chance of reaching the Core without fighting our way in..._

_But I did it for you, Red. _Something brushed against her cheek, like a hand caressing her face. Revan froze. Her purse hit the ground with a clank and she knelt, reaching for it with shaking hands.

_You're not here. You're just in my head._

"Master?"

"Citizen, are you ill?" A CoruSec civilian guard touched her arm tentatively. With great effort, Revan quelled the reflex to strike the woman down.

"I'm fine, Lieutenant, stand down," She straightened up, her hand clenched around the 'saber's hilt through the fabric. The words came out before she thought about them, not really the right thing for a Coruscanti pedestrian to say at all, but the girl—she was barely more than a girl—complied, reacting automatically to the authority in Revan's voice.

"Come on, Cally, she's probably just tipsy. There's a fine for public intoxication, citizen, please don't loiter in this sector." The green-skinned Twi'lek looked bored, barely glancing at the droid behind her.

"Thanks, I'm okay." The world tilted oddly, everything seemed too bright under the streetlights, lit by a strange glow.

_Force.__ Ripples in a pond. Sink to the bottom and just be a stone._

Revan started to walk away, aware that the two guards were trailing her, whispering to themselves. A prickle on the back of her neck, and she realized they weren't the only ones following her.

"HK?"

"Observation: Four humanids wearing stealth generators. The modulation of the frequencies is Mandalorian. Extrapolation: as we discussed, Canderous did not let you venture out unaccompanied. Probable Analysis: They are your escort and are of non-hostile intent. Regrettable. Insubordination among the meatbags of that culture is far too common. I advise you to make an example of one, to show the others it will not be tolerated."

"An order: you are not to harm them. Under any circumstances." _Cand' had me followed. I thought he would and I guess I can't blame him. There's more at stake here than just me._

_But I'm not going to do anything stupid, damnit._

"Master, I could be wrong. There is a point 0987 percent chance that they may be assassins. I advise you to allow me to eliminate that potential threat. Also, those CoruSec guards are still behind us. Surely, you are not going to tiresomely plead for their lives as well?"

"I don't plead, I tell," Revan snapped. "You forget yourself HK. I've disabled your lethal capacity. Your role is an advisor. You remember this place, I do not. That's why you're here."

If they'd gone the other direction they would have passed the Jedi Temple, and beyond that the Galactic Senate. But this road looped into a residential district, full of expensive towering high-rises and exclusive shops.

"Compliance: Yes, Master. In addition to my extensive assassination programs, I also have been most fortunately programmed as a protocol droid. Running subroutine: Tour Guide." Only HK could make those words drip with sarcasm. In Rakatan.

"To your right is a renowned Ryloshan dressmaker. When I was owned by Senator Thomasi, he had me eliminate one of his opponents in that store. The rival senator was in the dressing room, attempting to squeeze her bulk into an eridu evening gown three sizes too small. I used a small and extremely cunning poison grenade to knock her out, and then garroted her with the gown's scarf. Rather fortunately, this action was observed by the shop's staff and I was forced to eliminate them as well. It appears that the Ryloshan has hired new staff since then. Would you like to go shopping?"

"No, not really."

"On your left is a grocery frequented by several senators' kitchen staffs. On yet another assignment for the Senator, I injected a slow-acting neurotoxin into several stuffed pomatos that had been set on reserve for a rival's dinner party. I managed to eliminate not only the primary target and his immediate family, but also the ambassador to Aldaraan and a member of the Jedi Council who had been invited at the last minute. The neurotoxin acts directly on the cerebellum of most sentient races. A slow and painful death. Although I did not get to witness it, I have imagined it many times."

"You know, for an assassin droid, HK, you're not very subtle."

"Statement: You did not program me to be subtle, Lord Revan."

Even in Rakatan, the word 'Revan' was still 'Revan'. It made her shiver. A passing Durosian couple gave her an odd glance, but continued on. She looked behind them nervously. The CoruSec guards were now walking in the other direction, much to her relief.

"Expression of Appreciation: Thank you for bringing me, Master. It pleases me no end to revisit a place that holds such fond memories. The glittering lights of Coruscant are just as I remembered."

"Do you remember anything from when you lived here with me, HK?" _100 Thanos 3," he'd said. "Master, are we going home?"_

"Regrettably those memories were erased. Still, the destination is programmed as 'home' in my central core."

"Is it in mine?" She mumbled the words to herself, but HK answered her anyway.

"Clarification: Was that a question, Lord Revan, or are you having another emotional disturbance? Do you think you might become violent?" Only HK could make that question sound so hopeful.

The strolled past a sidewalk café where three young Jedi dressed in padawan beige were sipping caffa. She felt their clumsy Force presences wash over her like waves on the sand. They did not react. _Good, I'm in control. _One of them whistled appreciatively as she walked by, and underneath the holomask, Revan blushed, suddenly aware again how tight the coverall she was wearing really was.

_I didn't think Jedi were allowed to ogle. Bastila said—_

_Jedi are sents just like anyone, Red.__ In the old days, they loved and married and had children and lived among their people, just like everyone else. No one ever told Nomi and Ulic not to fall in love, or go to war..._

Almost a voice, soft in her ear.

_It's not real. He's not here, my mind plays tricks._

The tables blurred, and a girl in Padawan beige kissed a boy dressed in the same. Her loose hair was a flame down her back.

_"Do you want the whole planet to find out about us?"_

_"I want the whole galaxy to know how much I love you, Mal."_

_"Keep carrying on like this and the whole galaxy _will_ know." Their companion, a golden-skinned girl with black hair in a Deralian topknot wore a Knight's robes. She rolled her eyes._

_"Frack the galaxy," Malak said. "We leave for Malachor tomorrow with Vrook and we'll be cooped up on a ship for weeks."_

_"We'll have to find some way of entertaining ourselves," the red-haired girl giggled._

_"I'm going to find Davad and 'Tina," the Deralian said, getting up from the table. "I'll leave you two alone...if I don't see you before you leave, good luck and may the Force guide you."_

_"May the Force keep us from getting sand in places there should be no sand," Revan said. "From what I've read about Mandalore, that will be the real test of our knighthood."_

"Master? This seems an inadvisable place to stop."

"Yeah—yes." Revan made her feet move. The Padawans behind them were talking and laughing, different Padawans, none of them red-haired or Deralian—or—or Malak.

_Malak._

_Listen to me, Red, why won't you listen to me?_

"Because you're not real," she muttered out loud.

"Master?"

"Because you're dead. Because I killed you. Because I—"

The building was slim and silver and white. New construction, luxury conapts. There'd been a feature for _Coruscanti Style_ on Captain Carth Onasi's new quarters. Of course they didn't publish the address, but it had been easy to extrapolate with a map of the sector. And—D'Reev owned the building. It seemed fairly obvious this was where Carth would be.

She stopped in front of it and stared. _I don't know the floor. And this is a trap. This is D'Reev's trap. I had to see but I know. This is a trap._

"Observation: My sensors detect several hidden cameras equipped with retinal and brain scanning devices. If you move another meter forward you will trigger them. In addition, those ports on the side of the doorway could contain hidden sentry droids, or explosives. The doorman inside is Echani by his stance, and I am reading several life-signs behind him, concealed by that tinted ferraglass partition."

"We expected this." Revan took a few steps back, and felt the prickles at the back of her neck again, as her hidden escort followed her lead. "They'll let us in, but we'll never come out."

"Proud Approval: Your analysis of the situation is as always, commendable for a meatbag. However, I am sure we could overcome these obstacles, although practically it would be better if we had more weapons. Perhaps the Mandalorians that are stalking us have some we could borrow?"

"A terminal," she muttered. "Maybe I can call him or—"

"Imprudent, Master."

"I'm not an idiot, I wouldn't tell him I was me. If there was some way I could lure him outside, talk to him—if I could only talk to him...see him..."

"Are you a fangirl too?" The voice behind her was young and spoke Basic. Revan whirled around to see a pair of tweener girls, wearing matching lavender outfits cut similarly to her own. A modified Republic uniform, she realized, seeing it on someone else.

"You're out late," one of them said. "Usually he stays inside after nineteen hundred, but sometimes he goes for walks. He always looks so sad..." She sighed. Her hair was dyed bright red, and she'd lined her eyes with so much liner that they looked bruised.

"Leesa has five autoprints already, I just want one," her companion said. Her hair was an artificial black and pulled up in an imitation of a topknot. She wore a red visor over her face.

_I'm dressed like them. Maybe this isn't just bad Twi'lek taste after all. Maybe it's fashion._

"Have you seen his son? Dustil's totally dreamy," the redhead giggled.

"This _is _the right building, then. Do you...know the floor?" Revan asked, trying to young and casual.

"Seventy-three, but security won't let you anywhere near. Trust me, we've tried everything. Yesterday we pretended to be delivering flowers. And the day before that, Aramis tried to get her father to let us come to the Telos talks, so we could see him..."

"Yeah, well, Dads said no," the redhead sulked.

"Haven't seen you around before, you from the Uni? You look kinda older..."

"Um, yes. The Uni." Revan tried to think of what that could be.

_The University of Coruscant.__ Damnit, Red. Listen to me, you have to listen to me!_

Angrily she pushed back with the Force. "You're dead," she whispered.

"Excuse me?"

Somewhere a child was crying. Not very far away. _Shhh, Mal, it's okay, I'm here. She'll come, I promise you, she'll come...what are you planning, Red? Please talk to me, Revan. _

"M-Malak..."

"You like Malak, too?" The black-haired girl made a face. "Wow. Usually, it's like, Carth _or_ Malak. Although my mom thinks Canderous...but you know, she's old and stuff. Malak's kind of creepy, but have you seen the Coruscanti Underground version? My younger sister thinks Malak's cool, but she's only eight and she's just an Eg. Besides her best friend's—well, uh..."

The red-haired girl poked her friend hard.

Revan tried to collect her scattered thoughts and translate them, apply something that they were saying to her present situation. _Eg, what's an Eg?_

_Eglatine.__ I was one. Malachor is one. Red, listen to me!_

"Malachor," Revan whispered.

The black-haired girl paled beneath her tan. "You shouldn't say stuff like that out loud, I mean _we_ don't even say stuff like that. Who are you? You never did say..."

She pulled the Force back inside herself and tried to look perfectly harmless. "N-no one."

"Hey!" The redhead pulled her friend's arm and pointed. "Is that _him?"_

A man wearing a battered orange jacket and a heavy visor over his face stood in the building lobby arguing with the attendant. His hair was cut short, brutally short to her eyes, and streaked with gray at the temples that hadn't been there a few weeks before. His broad shoulders were hunched and his pants hung slightly loose as if he'd lost weight since they were fitted.

"Don't be silly, he always wears his Fleet uniform. That's some kind of janitor or something."

"But the jacket..."

_"Everybody_ has jackets like that now, and that's so six-months ago Star Forge. No, that's not him."

There was a rip in the sleeve of the leather that had been patched with a careful cross-stitch of yellow thread. A rip from a vibroblade back on Taris. One of the Vulkars. The seam was coming undone a little.

_"You look sort of cute, sewing up my clothes. I wouldn't have thought you had it in you."_

_"Don't expect me to make a habit of it, flyboy. I just don't want the Sith to pick you up as a transient."_

Revan stood and watched him, her heart in her throat. He was armed, she noted, shiny and unfamiliar blasters at his side. They looked expensive and dangerous.

Her hands brushed the pair she wore on her hips. The ones he'd left behind.

Whatever the guard said didn't please him. Carth came out of the building, walking towards them. The visor hid almost everything but his mouth. It was white-lipped, and every line of his body was tense.

"I think it's him."

"It's not him, he looks totally better than that!"

He walked past them, barely giving them a second glance.

Revan closed her eyes and then opened them again, willing herself not to move. This was madness. She watched numbly as the red-haired girl ran up to him to ask for an autoprint, watched him flinch and shake his head and walk away fast. He was in a hurry; she could see it in his long strides, the tension in every part of his body. He was halfway down the block before she let herself whisper his name.

"Carth."

The black-haired girl was still standing beside her. "You've got it bad, wow. I mean he's cute and everything, but you're like, shaking."

Revan tried to give her a noncommittal smile. "Am I?" She motioned to the droid and they began to follow.

"Happy Affirmation: Master, I am so pleased you brought me with you to stalk your target. The pilot deserves punishments for his betrayal. I hope you will let me assist you."

"No punishments, HK," she said quietly.

There was a light mist in the air that smelled sweet, like night-blooming flowers, piped in from the atmospheric generators overhead. The street gleamed in the overheads, set with crushed crystal that caught reflections and sparkled. _Magical Coruscanti nights..._

_His strong arms caught her from behind and his lips nuzzled her neck. "Red, we should go back to the party, my father will wonder where we've wandered off to."_

_"All right, Mal—take me home..." The white hem of her gown swished against her bare legs, and his hand enfolded her arm. She was a little tipsy from the champa, and she leaned against him._

_Revan. Listen to me._

_You're not real, Malak. You're not here._

Carth was halfway down the block just ahead of them. Revan wondered what he'd see, if he turned around. She quickened her step, it was important to keep him in her sights. She knew where he was going.

_He's going to see my father. Dustil was supposed to come for dinner and he didn't arrive. The old man's on alert, Red, you shouldn't do this, it's not safe._

_"Why did you bomb Telos, Malak?" Her girl's voice giggled the words, made them a joke, but it seemed to Revan that she'd asked the question in an entirely different tone, once. "Do you know how much you cost me? The Sith almost fell apart because of my Apprentice's clumsy mistake. Do you know how much it cost me to let you live? They were like a pack of drajak at my heels, snapping, watching for me to fall..."_

_His lips nuzzled her ear. They felt cold, like the steel plate of his jaw. "I wanted things to fall apart, Red."_

_"It's too late, Malak." The holomask felt like cold metal against her lips, amplifying her breathing to a harsh hissing sound in her ears, or was that the thrum of her 'saber? She gripped the hilt harder, frowning at the pink fabric that concealed it._

_That isn't right._

_Talk to me, Red. What are you planning?_

Carth was just ahead of them, disappearing into a towering building of blue and gold metal and glass. The guards stationed at the entrance nodded at him as if he was expected.

_He is._

"Statement: Master, the defenses ahead of us are more fortified than they appear. There is a stasis field generator enabled at the front desk, and retinal scanning devices within twenty paces of our current location. I would advise you to begin aggressive maneuvers now. The complex of Thanos 3 is designed like the hulls of several starships, built on top of each other so that each compartment can be self-contained. During our assault, at any time our enemies will have the capacity to seal off the levels above and below. We are not presently equipped with any tools to breech these hulls."

_I could use the Force..._

Revan felt it ripple around them, like a slow still lake.

_He opened the balcony doors and walked outside, the forcefield was a faint silver gleam to keep him from falling off and going splat. Downbelow everyone was little, like tiny bugs. His eyes were sore from crying so much, but at least Grandfather was leaving him alone now, wondering where Dustil got to. He leaned against the forcefield. It made his fingers tingle, and he looked down._

_Her eyes were looking up, under a mask. He waved._

_A small hand in her hand, and gray eyes looking into hers.__ Red lashes wet against her cheek. Then the feel of him in her arms. Solid, secure, safe. His thoughts weren't words, just emotions, so much hope in them she could die from it._

An armored hand grabbed her wrist and Revan screamed.

"Miss are you all right?" From her other side, two CoruSec guards approached, hands on their blasters.

Revan jerked her head, staring at the suit of Mandalorian battle armor that had appeared beside her out of nowhere. HK seemed completely unruffled. "I—I'm fine," she whispered.

The suit of battle armor patted her arm awkwardly, trying to gentle a nervous hessi with a quarter ton of durasteel. "Time to go," Canderous' voice said.

"I-I'm fine," Revan said again to the guards. "My...escort startled me is all."

"Apologies, Citizen, but there's no loitering here..." The Trandoshan guard frowned his brow ridge at them, skin flushing a dubious brown. "I'm afraid I will need to see some idchips. Security in this sector is very high at the moment."

His companion was eyeing the Mandalorian, with suspicion that could only too easily turn into something else. Revan felt the prickle of movement behind them, as if her unseen escort was moving into some kind of formation.

_"You don't need to see our idchips." _She kept the words soft, and felt them almost bounce back—_resistant, they've been trained—_but Revan pushed harder, and their minds bent.

"We don't need to see your idchips," the Trandoshan nodded, unhappily. His human companion was frowning.

_This is good because we have none. _Her hands moved nervously on her absurd pink purse.

"Have a nice evening," Canderous said gruffly to the guards and pulled her away, walking briskly.

_No words, but an emotion like hope, it hurt so much she wanted to scream._

_"I love you Malachor, I'll be with you soon. I promise."_

_The small hand slipped away from hers, and she was crying under her mask. The lie felt thick in her throat. _We can never come back, not after what we've done.

_The old man laughed. "Did you think to disappoint me, my son?"_

_Her own voice, cold as stars.__ "We'll see you in ashes, Malachi."_

A block away, there was a parking garage, it's squat structure at odds with the architecture around it. They entered the gates and behind them, stealth fields dissolved.

"You didn't have to follow us, Father." Millifar's voice sounded disgusted. She and the three boys with her were all clad in nondescript black coveralls, and armed with rifles.

Canderous turned around. His voice sounded amused. "You did well, all of you. I was not disturbing your hunt; I just...wanted some night air."

The girl snorted. "We were doing just fine!"

"A tracking device," Revan made her voice cold. It brought her back to herself. She crossed her arms and tried to make the gesture look authoritative, instead of like a shiver. "Where'd you put it?"

Canderous chuckled. "We're not going to tell you."

"I wasn't going to do anything stupid." _Probably._

"The computer said the odds were twenty-two-to-one that you might," his tone was so light she couldn't tell if he was joking or not. "Look—" even though the garage was empty he was careful not to say her name—"we thought you needed the chance to...see this place. Or do whatever you needed to do. But that doesn't mean we'd let you throw your life away."

"I wasn't going to storm the gates—I know it's a trap, I just wanted to see..."

"And you saw." Canderous patted her arm again, gesture made even clumsier by the full body armor. They'd reached a small nondescript speeder. It was a tight fit, but they all clambered in. Millifar took the controls and eased the vehicle down the ramp way. A mechanized machine at the docking bay scanned the seal on the windshield and beeped. The garage doors opened and they spun into the Coruscanti night.

"There's an irony in this," Revan said quietly, sandwiched between Canderous and his daughter. The night wind rippled through her hair, it was cool on her face. In the back seat the boys stirred restlessly, whispering. HK sat, implacable and sulking in their midst.

No one answered her. Irony was not a Mandalorian trait.

"Your people destroyed everything that I could have been." She kept her voice small, speaking almost to herself, let the words be lost on the wind, but Canderous heard them anyways.

He laughed. "I could say the same about you, Revan." He patted her arm again. "And so could your pilot. But what do you want to do about that now?"

XXX

A/N We're in busy season at work so I have to do this off the clock now, I have been shamefully remiss in thanking you all for reading—but really—thanks for reading. It's an inspiration to write...and "taste the lightning" is NOT my original phrase, it's Rose 7's. And it's damn good. Much like her fict!

Mandalorian culture this version owes a ton to Kate Elliot's Jaran series, except for the Jaran being monogamous and the men arranging marriages. It also owes a ton to every other take on Mandalorian culture, and me trying to change things and keep it still within the same themes. Re: Ether's question about Robert Jordan's um, whatever they were? Yes, I read it, years ago. I really don't like him, but that was one of the high points and it's possible I picked up a few things from there, even though I've blocked the memory. Incidentally, George RR Martin is NOT publishing A Feast for Crows anytime soon, and so we all must sulk. Ugh. Sigh.

**snackfiend101**Kidnap? Heh, perhaps. Wait til you meet Mekel's Mom :P. South, fans and poo. Party. Yes. And it's been really fun to write that section even though the chapter that precedes it is only half-written. Hey, it's going to be a party, they're roasting dewbacks in fire pits, Carth has a date and Revan's...there. Not to mention, Mandalorians!

**Prisoner 24601 You** can blame yourself for Canderous' wives...:) They are fun, though...and certainly, they have more to say. If the current version of the party scene survives, they have quite a bit more to say...not to mention, cause trouble.

Helena's got a reason for being there...clues in this chapter...I've thought about her character ever since I first met her in the Tatooine bar and I always wondered why a dying woman would be in a cantina, and if Bastila's angst might have a point.

And the cockpit scene, not to mention the phrase...I wrote an entire flashback scene (PG13), that may or may not make the final edit in chapter 20, unsure.

**xenzen**(stepping back a few chapters now—sometimes I think you'll kill me for the Carth torture in the latter chapts...)

Nod, Revan is scary. She should be scary? She's the former Dark Lord of the Sith mindwiped with the blood of millions on her hands?

Nothing is easy, sometimes I feel like a use a sledgehammer to make that point hit home when a thumbtack would prob take care of it but...hm, that'd be the brick. In the sock.

Is this a ds fict? Well, there's a question.

My grammar is rough, and in most cases I "should" know better. Appreciate you slapping me around about it a lot a lot. Because you're right, shouldn't be sloppy.

Kel and Revan being a small glimmer...well, no one's irredeemable they teach in Jedi School—although how they apply that does make me wonder.

Carth's second thoughts...well I think he would have them. There's a reason in the real version that got cut that they just blow up with the Star Forge. In some ways, that's what makes it kinda so bad, what Malachi D'Reev did to him: played on thoughts that were already there...getting drunk in front of two Sith—well, Yuthura's redeemed-ish, and Kel's a kid. I don't know if he thought much more about it than that. Just being a hero doesn't make Carth always wise. Remember, he barely remembered his pants.

The fall: well, whatshisname Exar Kun's master felt Exar fall. And I don't, as I said, see this Revan's fall being a gradual thing the second time around. I see it more as a split, a fracture, a car crash. As I said in my email, the game kind of supports a character that can go mostly light side all the way up to the temple and then crash and burn. There's an element of suspension of disbelief, sure, that all these people felt Revan "fall"—it was something that I thought about before introducing it—something I think about still. But if she touched so many people's lives, shouldn't she have an impact? I could write an essay...but only I would probably be interested...bah. Dramatic events in the Force have impacts in canon and this was one of them. That's mi story and I stick by it.

HK no longer uses contractions, thanks to you...

**Tim Radley** Well Mandalorian families are...glad you liked the Plan, because I wasn't sure about including its exposition. Then ether pointed out that I am confusing enough as is. (and she is right) Then again, that might be still true, I worry.

Carth's...going through some things. Working out the timing on them now.

As you have proved in your own fiction countless times, sometimes the joy is in the details. And each small life has its point to play. I am getting fond of those poor CoruSec guards though. I suspect they'll be back.

Revan and Mission...parallels abound where they do. And identity is certainly a theme...

The contrast between the two wars seems to me to a crucial point worth exploring, at least in this fict. More parallels and something that suggests a policy change within the Council. I think....more Yuthura coming up, was cheesy of me to fade out on her like that in this chapter.

**Rose7**

Thanks for your kind words and for letting me borry taste the lightning, which is the best phrase ever.

Carth and Revan...I am a romantic, just a harsh one. I hope I can pull it off. Please tell me if it doesn't ultimately work.

The trick to deus ex machine I think, is making them breathe. I feel cynical saying it like that, but it is what I do think. And a deus doesn't need superpowers, sometimes they just need to be in right place at right time...

**ether-fanfic**

Thank you thank you Ms. Beta!! (yet again)

Shades of gray, sivil and Downbelow too. And Statement, how could I have missed that? Gah. I still keep thinking of that line about the dragons whenever I write Malak. (ether's line about dragons, shiver...) You know, speaking of love stories and romances, I think that line is one, all in itself.


	19. The Return of the Sith

**A/N **Thanks ETHER for the wonderful beta! Any punctuation errors in this are the upload's fault, this is my third attempt to put them all back in. Grr...more A/N at end.

XXX

**Chapter 19 / The Return of the Sith**

_XXX_

_Mekel Jin_

"Hey there, Mekk-who's your big hairy friend?" Katti Base purred at him, dangling from the gilded cage hanging over the round doorway, and flicked his face insubstantially with her tail. The lurid pink holosign flashed overhead, painting her striped fur in vivid relief and bathing them all in flashing neon lights. _Mom's. Brothel. Open._

He knew it was Katti because she always flirted with him, but the Cathar holosuit covered her from head to toe. Those weren't cheap. Moms had come up in the world. Of course, real Cathars didn't have tails, but never let it be said that Moms lacked imagination.

_-Don't take this the wrong way, Mekel Jin, but your mother's brothel gives me the creeps.-_

Mekel sighed. Mission sounded oddly subdued. Zaalbar growled something at them, but it must not have been important, because Mission didn't bother to respond or translate. The growl sounded like disgust.

_It may be gross, but it's the only place I have an edge over Dustil._

_I hope._

"We're expecting someone in about an hour, Katti. You remember my friend Dusty?"

"Heh. You mean Dustil Onasi?" Katti winked. "I saw the newsvid interview with his father . . . you granslug, you never told me your little friend Dusty was the savior of the galaxy's son! He looks just like his father too." She sighed, dreamy. Her eyes were glassy with glitterstim and she kept talking, really fast. "There's a picture of them in the _Subterranean Star _eating at _Madoo's_ with some Fleet brass. Dustil's all in black and looking _so_ broody . . . mmm he looks good in person too, cleaned up rrreal nice." Katta gave him a once over, taking in the bandaged hand, swollen lip, and gray coverall that he wore underneath the long banthahide jacket. "Unlike some people . . ."

_Great. Dustil's rich, famous _and _better-looking than me. And stronger in the Force . . . _The jealousy was automatic. Mekel tried not to think about it too hard.

"Looks good in person?" Mission interrupted. Her lights flashed red. "Is Dustil here already?"

Katti blinked at the T3. "It's a talking droid!" Some vague idea seemed to percolate behind her glazed yellow eyes. "Is that a T3? Hey Mekk! Why're you meeting Carth Onasi's son with . . . a Wookiee and a T3?"

"I'm not a T3," Mission said, coolly. "You must be mistaken, Cathar."

Katti giggled. "I'm not a real Cathar, silly!" She turned back to Mekel, dangling her legs down through the slats of the cage and kicking her feet. Her shoes were high-heeled and red.

"Yeah, he's here, Mekk. Your moms gave him the Starbuckler's suite. Didn't want any company though." She blinked slowly, as if another idea had occurred to her. "Oh. Is that why you brought the Wookiee?"

Zaalbar groaned. It sounded like quiet outrage.

"Later, Katti, have fun, good tricks." Mekel pushed open the swinging doors and walked inside. If they were lucky they could get past the bouncers and up to the suite before Moms asked him for the credits.

The Gamorrean goons waved them all through, but then their luck ran out.

"Well, well, well. Look what came in with the tide."

"Moms. Hi." Mekel dug into his pocket, fishing for the credits Zaalbar had given him, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach he always got seeing her.

Deeka Jin had been a common street treat when he left for Korriban, but she'd come up in the world since then, and her tastes with her. Her once-thin frame was padded sleek, and she wore a silver mesh dress that highlighted more than it concealed. Mekel winced and dutifully kissed her rouged cheek, pressing the credits into her outstretched hand. She had feathers in her black hair and her eyes were sharp and alert.

"So, Dusty's already here?" he began cautiously.

"So, Dusty's already here?" she mimicked, echoing the patrician tones he'd taught himself long ago when he was finally given the means to climb out of this hell. "'Dusty' is Dustil Onasi! Why didn't you tell me that whelp was worth something when the two of you came trawling in here looking like schuttas from the sewers?" Her eyes narrowed as she took in his companions, and her plucked and artificially blue eyebrows rose. "Where'd you find the Wookiee, Mekel . . . "

"Just hired muscle." Mekel tried to keep his voice bland. She snorted at him, not fooled for a second. Her eyes passed over Mission's chassis as well. Moms fingered her chin thoughtfully.

"Come up in the world, have we, son?" He could see the gears turning like credit chips behind her flat black eyes. "You might consider sharing some of it with your old Moms . . . the Jedi have been around twice, looking for you. It breaks my heart to tell them they have the wrong Moms, and that I have no son at all . . . "

"Has anyone else looked for me?" His bandaged hand ached.

"Who were you expecting?" She gave him her mercenary smile, and her gold tooth glittered.

"CoruSec."

"No." Moms frowned. "Should they be?"

_-That was dumb, Mekel Jin. Your mother seems like the type to turn us in.—_

_She wouldn't want trouble with CoruSec either . . . _He couldn't come out and say it though, not even as a whisper. "It's fine," he said out loud. "Look, we'll be going upstairs now, I'll see you, Moms—afterwards?"

Her attention appeared to be distracted by the two Fleet uniforms that had pushed in behind him, but Mekel wasn't fooled. She really hadn't changed much since the old days when she'd worked curbside and he'd waited for her on Beggar's Row. He hoped she wouldn't offer him a job working here again.

"Make sure to stop by the office before you leave, honeygizka, there are some things we have to talk about . . . "

_I'm sure that there are. But facing down Moms and her Exchange goons will be cake compared to raging Telos angst boy._

"Let me go in first," Mekel whispered to Blue and Zaalbar as they climbed the stairs to the Starbuckler's suite. "He's going to try something and I can stop it."

The Wookiee groaned something like a protest.

Mission growled back at him_. -Yeah okay, but don't hurt him, Mekel Jin.—_

"Right," Mekel said. Dustil's mind brushed against his, like a knotted spring of rage and hate and power. _And I'll try not to die too._

XXX

_Dustil Onasi_

Dustil sat on the slick synthhide couch, as that seemed preferable to sitting on the large star-shaped bed. The suite was small and dingy, and he'd dimmed the lights, casting all of it in shadow. He'd gotten here two hours early and he'd fixed his eyes on the door ever since. His good hand kept twitching on the blaster he carried and he wished he had his 'saber. His left hand still hurt, a persistent throb in tempo with his pulse and his anger.

When he let his mind drift he could catch glimpses of Mekel's presence, but Dustil didn't push too hard. This would be easier if Mekel was off-guard when he came in. Finally, he heard footsteps and the clack of something metal coming up the stairs. Mekel's mind poked at his tentatively, like testing a minefield.

_Are you going to play nice, Telos? Or will this be a scene like with the Echani sword dancer?_

"I'll play nice," Dustil hissed out loud.

The door opened and a yellow beam of light ignited, bisected by Mekel's hands. It lit his face from below, casting his features into shifting shadows. Dustil watched his stance carefully. Mekel was a better fighter than he was, but he looked uncertain with the double blade.

"Nice 'saber," Dustil said, winding his thoughts for a strike. The Force sang around him, like a rush of power. _Sweeter than a kiss._

"It was Bastila Shan's," Mekel answered. Behind him, still hidden by the door something growled. Something else beeped.

_That thing's here with him. The droid._

Dustil coiled his mind like a spring and _pushed._

Mekel staggered a little, but kept moving into the room.

Dustil called the lightning and the air built like a slow sweet charge. Mekel bared his teeth, like a challenge. Dustil raised his hand and the blue flame crackled, he sent it into the other boy's body, watched him jerk and twitch and the 'saber fell from Mekel's nerveless hands onto the floor, hissing and burning the dingy carpet. Dustil felt the other boy's pulse in his chest stagger, smelled something like singed hair.

The walls between them began to crumble.

"It's okay, Blue," Mekel whispered, voice hoarse. "I'm fine . . . "

And then the loop fed back into Dustil's own mind and it hurt, it hurt more than anything he'd ever felt before, more than any Korriban punishment because it wasn't just the pain in his own body, it was Mekel's pain too.

Enraged he pushed harder, and the world tilted into a red haze. He'd fallen on the floor somehow, gasping and twitching just like Mekel. But he couldn't sense the other boy's thoughts. There were no thoughts, only the burning pain, it felt like the blood was boiling in his veins. The carpet smoldered and burned. He hoped it was the carpet. It smelled like scorched hair and skin.

_I don't want to die like this. . ._ Dustil wasn't sure if it was his thought or Mekel's. _Don't . . . want..to . . . die like this . . ._ It was hard to breathe and his vision blurred. Dustil pulled back, pulled away. _Stop it, stop this . . . _

The Force guttered and died. They both lay on the floor gasping for breath, the yellow particle blade scorching the carpet between them.

"I-I . . . thought we'd . . . have it out with 'sabers," Mekel whispered. His lips looked blue in the dim light, and his eyes were like black pits against white skin. His hand shook and he twisted his fingers. The 'saber on the floor deactivated with a click. Around it, the carpet smoldered.

"I lost mine," Dustil's mouth was dry and his chest burned. Painfully he felt his pulse return to something like normal.

The door opened the rest of the way and a Wookiee and a T3 droid came into room.

"You have got to be the most pathetic excuse for a Sithboy that I've seen, you asshole," the droid said.

"If you've caused any permanent damage to Mekel Jin, I'll flay the flesh from your bones," it added in a different voice, words crisp and decisive and threatening.

The Wookiee started growling, a whole string of words in a language he didn't understand.

_On Kashyyyk the natives speak Shyriiwook. They are a peaceful, forest-dwelling race, with an agrarian society based on harvesting the bounty of their arboreal planet . . . _

_Lessons from civics class on Telos. Xenosociology 102._

"You're Zaalbar, the one that killed Mission," Dustil said accusingly to the Wookiee. His voice was a croak. He tried to sit up, but his limbs wouldn't let him.

The carpet was burning. The T3 spat out a stream of white foam from one of its jets and the fire died out. The Wookiee waved his arms in the air and gesticulated at the droid.

"Okay, okay, Big Z—I'll translate. Geez. Don't you think I should get to talk to him first?"

The Wookiee barked something that sounded like a negative.

"Sheesh, I mean he was _my _friend!"

"You're not Mission Vao," Dustil snapped, trying to get his arms to work again. His hand was killing him. Mekel had the trace of a smug smile on his face. He wanted to wipe it off and grind it into the dirt.

The T3 beeped, and the lights on its top flashed blue.

"I'm the closest thing left! You nerf-herding stupid piece of bantha . . . _turd! _I knew you for like a month, and you get all sithy again over _me_? And how could you be such a fracking idiot that day in the Library anyways? Why didn't you just run away? I arranged a perfectly good distraction and you just stood there blinking like a tach in the overlights!"

"A distraction?" Dustil frowned.

"Nevermind."

The Wookiee made more gestures with his paws. They looked threatening, and the T3 rolled back into the corner of the room. Zaalbar stood over him, barking. His brown animal eyes were soft and sad. Dustil scrambled to his feet, willing his numb legs to hold him up again. The Wookiee was huge, he'd never realized how huge he was the few times they'd met on Korriban.

"Translation," the T3 said in a different voice. A mechanized one, like you'd hear over a commlink making public announcements, or on the newsvids. "It was my blade that slew Mission Vao, and it is my debt. But the dead are dead, son-of-Carth, and you are only a small cub. When the leaves fall in winter, or the hunter misses his mark and is eaten by the kinrath, we mourn, but we help the living. We prune the dead wood and the other trees grow. Your father and Revan's cub need our assistance. The Mission-ghost is not the one that we loved, but she has her memories-"

"—I think of myself as Mission," the T3 said in Mission's voice, interrupting its own translation. The blue lights flashed.

Zaalbar shook his furred head slowly and groaned. Behind him, Mekel was getting slowly to his feet, his face pale and covered with a light sheen of sweat. Dustil could feel every ache in the other boy's body. He _pushed_ at Mekel's mind again, hoping to catch him off guard. Mekel flinched and sat back down heavily on the floor.

_You suck, Telos._

This was all a distraction. Dustil wanted to get what he'd come for. He wanted to know where Revan was. So he could make her pay.

_You . . . fracking . . . idiot . . . .Do you think you'd last two seconds against her? You know who she was. You know how powerful she is. _Mekel was in so much pain it was hurting him to think. There was a power in that too.

_Show me. _Dustil pushed harder.

"'My fleas are your fleas, my hunt is your hunt, your tree is my tree.' Mission Vao is dead, but the cub she was learned this poem from me. She thought of you as part of our family, and when you were both older she hoped that one day the two of you would mate—"

"Whoa, slow down. I never said 'mate'—I just said I thought he was cute!" It was Mission's voice, coming from the T3's chassis. "I mean of course he was part of our family, 'cause Carth and Polla-Revan were like, practically married and stuff, with all of their 'we-have-to-lock-the-cockpit-doors-because-they-slide-open-during-hyperspace-jumps-and-someone-might-get-hurt—but I mean, I just had a crush, I thought he was cute! It wasn't major!"

The Wookiee waved his hands and growled.

"Fine. Whatever. Big Z says I loved you, Dustil Onasi." The T3 whirred to itself.

Dustil closed his eyes and tried to focus. He felt Mekel trying to draw strength, felt it slipping through the other boy's fingers, felt Mekel's pulse grow thready and weak, felt his breath falter. He pushed harder. Mekel's thoughts scattered like leaves before his assault—and he reached to catch them but what he found made no sense.

_The big star is the Serrano system, and that's Wayland and Bandomeer, twin worlds in its orbit. Twin worlds line the gate to the Hydian Way. When we get to Junction Station we'll stop for supplies. You'll have to go . . . get—more kolto—I cannot be seen here. Not yet. Not far away is Dathomir, which has its own version of Force-users, witch women who call it 'magic' but who only scratch the surface of true power. I—I studied them for a time—before—when I was, when I was one of the Jedi . . . _

_Mekel?_

_The Sith are only a tool she keeps saying, only a tool to achieve our true purpose, but we've changed. My father always said that power corrupts but he never tasted true power, true glory. My father plays games in the ballroom with Coruscanti politicians and makes worlds burn for the sake of his sport. We'll make worlds burn to stop it. Sometimes I ask myself if there's a difference._

_Mekel? _Dustil pushed harder.

_She said think of something else to keep him out, think of languages but I can't concentrate, I try and think of Him, but he never answers me. He called me insignificant, a pawn, a tool, grist for the machine, but it's better here and she said she used to crack her skull on the bulkheads to keep Bastila Shan out of her head . . . She's _Revan_ and I'm nothing and don't talk to me Blue, it hurts, I can feel it in my spine—and I can't keep Dustil out of my head—he's stronger—he's stronger than I am and—I can't do this, I'm weak, I'm too weak and. . . Dathomir, and after Junction Station comes Toprawa, and then Thule. On Thule, they'll recognize me as their Lord, but not their Master—she says it must always be like this: always a Master and Apprentice, it is the way of the Sith. And then Korriban, where they will teach you, Mekel Jin. Coruscanti son, little killer. We'll teach you to kill for a cause instead of bread, teach you to harness power and make worlds burn . . . _

"Stop it, Telos!_" _Mekelyelled out loud. _Get out of my head, getoutofmyhead . . . _The other boy's thoughts disintegrated into a soundless scream.

"Hey! What the frack are you doing to Mekel, Dustil? Stop it! You're killing him!" The droid's fake voice sounded frightened. The T3 had blasters in its appendages and the Wookiee growled and moved closer, his hand on the hilt of one of his swords.

He couldn't focus on two things at once; Dustil released his grip on Mekel's mind and reached for his own gun.

"Frack . . . you . . . Telos." Mekel took a deep shuddering breath and poured the pain back through their bond like a whiplash. "Mission . . . cares . . . about . . . you—how can you be so fracking dense? At least your father has . . . excuses . . . he's brainwashed . . . you're . . . just an idiot."

Dustil's concentration splintered. The blaster fell on the ground. The Wookiee growled, and the computer was rattling at it in Shyriiwook.

"How can you live with what you did? How can you let her live after what she made you do?" Dustil yelled at Zaalbar.

The Wookiee groaned a response.

"He says they were both madclaw and since they did not die of it they must let the dead be dead. He says you should understand. We watched you, at the Academy. And Polla-Revan asked around. What about those prospective students you half-fried, Dustil?" It was Mission's voice coming out of that thing. If he closed his eyes he'd think it was her.

"_Some of the stuff I did, Blue—wasn't very nice. Maybe we wouldn't be friends if you knew."_

_Her head tails twitched and she looked at him with those big round eyes. "Then don't do them anymore," she said. "Don't be Sithboy."_

_Mission made it sound that simple. And I believed her. But now she's dead._

"W-what . . . about . . . Erimac . . . Dustil?" Mekel whispered. There was a faint smile on his lips, and he pushed himself up to a sitting position again. The effort made him cough, and Dustil felt it too, like an ache in his lungs.

"You were worse than me!" Dustil shot back. Mekel _had_ been worse than him. _They were weak. I had to kill them to get prestige. If I didn't get prestige someone would kill me._

"Yeah . . . I . . . I'm not the one t-trying to m-make excuses now. W-why don't you tell Blue how you won your 'saber? T-that was a real f-fair fight wasn't it?" Mekel's teeth were chattering and his lips looked purple. The T-3 rolled over to him and an appendage shot out. There was the hiss of a kolto pack unsealed and Mekel jerked as the injection stung his arm.

"D-don't waste that, Blue," he whispered. "I'm f-fine . . . " His fingers scrabbled at the high neck of his shirt and he unbuckled it. There was a collar around his neck and he pulled at it as if it burned.

_In Dreshdae, lightsabers weren't constructed, they were won. And it was easy to get one, all you had to do was kill someone that had one and take it._

_Of course, the harder they were to kill, the more prestige for the act. Erimac was the best duelists in school. Dustil could never hope to beat him in a fair fight. But it was child's play to convince three out-of-work Iridonian mercs in the cantina that shooting a Sith student was their best chance of getting hired to work security detail._

_All Dustil had to do was pick it up off the cooling corpse. The mercs got jobs too. In the dueling room. He picked one of them out of the cages later himself._

"That wasn't the same. If I hadn't someone would have killed me!"

"You know I helped with Selene," Mekel shot back. "We don't talk about it, but you've been in my mind, you _know_ I did. Master Uthar told me get her into the caves and I was with Lashowe when she killed her." He smiled crookedly. "I watched."

_One of those things we don't talk about. Ever. Like why four months ago we got jobs in Lusha's cantina, because killing was all we knew how to do, and it scared us to like it so much. It felt like madness. It felt good, it felt like power._

"I took her into the caves," Mekel went on, his face twisted, lips white with anger. "I told her we'd go looking for artifacts. She thought I wanted to get in her pants, but she came with me, Telos. Maybe she thought I was hot. Lashowe was waiting for us there. We split the merit points."

The anger was like a fire. Like flames burning around them. He could practically see Mekel twisting in agony again on the floor, and feel the pain again himself. _I'd kill us both. _Dustil clenched his fists.

"Revan destroyed worlds," he said, keeping it in check. "How can you compare what we did to that?"

"You want her dead for the life of one Twi'lek, how can you be such a fracking hypocrite?"

"I loved her!"

"I'm right here," the T3 said, its voice subdued.

The Wookiee groaned again, waving his arms.

XXX

_Carth Onasi_

"Your grandfather said I might find you out here." Carth kept his voice light and careful, trying to bury the worry that gnawed at him. _Dustil just ran off to get drunk or something. Do whatever it is that boys do. It doesn't mean he went after Revan . . . he-he could be anywhere. When I was his age I stayed out once until dawn and my parents grounded me for a month . . . _

Malachor turned and looked at him, his mouth round with surprise. When he'd come in the child had been leaning up against the forcefield that surrounded the balcony, whispering to himself. The Senator said the child had been upset at school. He was worried about him. The old man was busy and distracted, and he'd asked Carth to look in on his grandson.

"_He looks up to you, Captain Onasi. If you could speak with him again? He won't talk to me. And get him to come off that balcony before he catches a chill."_

D'Reev had been very comforting about Dustil.

"_Boys will be boys, Captain. And I'm sure it's not . . . _her._ There's been no sign of her, no sign at all." His lips curled in an embarrassed smile. "Just that little incident with Seriina at the ports. Seriina is rather upset with me, we're friends, you know."_

The night air wasn't cold, the atmospherics took care of that, but the boy was shivering. Carth wrapped the blanket he'd brought with him around the small shoulders.

"I was . . . I was just standing out here," Malachor said. "Sometimes you can look down and see people. I saw a lady in pink." He wiped his nose. His eyes were still red from where he'd been crying.

Carth looked over the edge of the balcony. From this height the pedestrians were specks. You couldn't tell what they were wearing at all.

"_He cried all afternoon, when the derm wore off," the Senator said. "I feel so helpless when he cries."_

"Do you want to go inside, Korrie? We could get you some hot choca."

The boy shook his head. His eyes were very wide, and he frowned, biting his lip. "Captain Onasi, if I ask you something will you tell me the truth?"

_Morgana and I always prided ourselves on telling Dustil the truth. But he's eight, Malachor's eight._

"Sometimes the truth hurts, Korrie." Carth knelt down and took the boy's hands in his own, trying to dull the ache in his throat. He blinked his eyes.

The child swallowed. "There's a lot of stuff I don't understand. Because it's bad. Bad stuff that they did." His eyebrows wrinkled. "I guess it's sort of like Grandfather and the Senate. Sometimes he does bad stuff too, because he can. Because he thinks he has to . . . "

"Your grandfather just wants to protect you." _What can I say to him?_

Malachor bit his lip. "Y-you loved your wife and son more than anything. He says it was your strength, he could feel it like a star inside you." The boy's head drooped and he stared at the ground. "M-maybe my mother loves you like that. You do love her like that, don't you?" The boy's eyes pleaded with him.

"It's not your mother's fault," Carth began automatically, remembering the first talk they'd had about her. _It's not your mother's fault. But sometimes people get . . . broken and they can't be fixed._ _Like your mother. Like me. Like Helena Shan. Like Telos. Gods, but please, not like Dustil._

The boy blinked hard. "That's not true," he whispered. His eyes seemed old in the young face. "S-she made choices. They both did. Maybe they were wrong. B-but my mother got a second chance. B-because of you."

Carth didn't know what to say. The child kept talking, words spilling out,

"Y-you came in on a ship called the _Republic Pearl._ That's one of High Admiral Rensha's and my grandfather gives her money. Sometimes I listen, and sometimes I see stuff. Grandfather says to Wann keep the Selkathten in jail because they could cause trouble."

_The Selkath ten . . . _

"_The woman I saved on Manaan was not the Sith Lord, Captain Onasi," said Yuthura Ban. "She was only a woman who had suffered as we all suffered. I feared her, but when I looked at you, I saw her hope. Do you ever wonder who has the most to gain by denouncing Revan Starfire? Do you ever wonder who winds you up and makes you dance?"_

"_We're pawns," the Twi'lek continued, when Carth couldn't find any words to answer her. "Vrook doesn't tell me much, but at least I know I'm being used. You're like a dancing puppet and you don't even know whose hands pull your strings." She smiled coldly. "This call is monitored. Have you ever wondered who listens?"_

_The commlink flashed with another incoming call._

"_I have to go," Carth said. His head was pounding and all he could hear was her broken voice again, in the cockpit of the _Ebon Hawk.

"Promise me . . . "

_The Senator's face was grave. "Dustil isn't here," he said. "He never arrived. I've checked the grid reports for signs of an accident, but there's nothing. Please come here, Captain Onasi. I'll put all of my resources at your disposal to find your son. But I—Korrie's inconsolable. About his mother. I need you here."_

Something bothered him, there was something here he should think of, something important.

"Your grandfather would never let anything happen to you, Korrie. The guards, the defenses . . . " Carth's voice trailed off.

"Captain Onasi," the little boy's voice was tight and oddly formal. "Do you love my mother?"

_You're eight, Korrie, how can you understand?_

Carth took a deep breath. "When I look at you, Korrie I see the good in her. I see what she could have been."

"She _is_ good," the child said fiercely. "If you found out she was good would you stop hating her?"

"I—I don't hate her." _You're eight; you can't understand what I feel. Sometimes I don't understand it myself. _

"I don't understand!" Malachor's voice shook and he pulled away from Carth. He went back to the edge of the balcony again, leaned his palms against the barrier and rested his forehead on it. "I don't understand, why can't I just tell him? Why can't I just tell him everything and then he'll help us?"

_He's hysterical. Poor kid. _"Choca," Carth said emptily. "Come here, Korrie. We'll go to the kitchens and see if Sivona can make us some choca."

He held out his hand, and Malachor took it. "You love her," the boy said stubbornly. "I know you do."

XXX

_Zaalbar_

The cubs screeched at each other and the Mission-ghost squawked until he thought that the cacophony would drive him to madness. The room was too small and smelled like bad mating and it was too hot. Carth's son was white-eyed and rabid. In the forests his people would have just driven him to the Shadowlands until he died or came back to his senses; but there was no room for such an exile on this tiny planet teeming with so many different races. No room for green places here.

Mekel Jin smelled like hurt still, and Carth's cub smelled like pain. The Mission-ghost didn't smell like anything; but he could tell she was angered by the tone of her voice, shrill and grating against his ears.

"I'm right here!" she said again, and Carth's son just looked at her with loathing.

"You're not Mission!" he insisted again. "You're not Mission, you're a thing! A tool Revan can use to do whatever she wants with."

"Polla-Revan doesn't tell me what to do!" the Mission-ghost shot back. If she'd been the real Mission she'd be crying. The real Mission had been very fond of the son of Carth. More fond than the boy deserved, he'd thought, although really they had only met the few times Mission brought the boy aboard the _Hawk_. Korriban had been a bad place, dry and dead; and Zaalbar had happily stayed in the ship for the month they'd spent on the planet. After the unfortunate incident with the Czerka representatives on Tatooine, Polla-Revan had thought it safer for him to stay out of sight on planets where the enslaving infidel _corporation_ held sway.

"Tell the boy what Polla-Revan wants to do," Zaalbar growled at the Mission-ghost. "Perhaps if you can make him understand that she is no longer madclaw, he will stop biting his own tail trying to hurt her."

"I can't trust him with that information," the Mission-ghost said back, in Shyriiwook, interrupting her own rant of Twi'leki curses. "He's not dependable and he's too close to D'Reev."

"But you trust Mekel Jin," Zaalbar waved his hands uselessly. Both of the cubs had that sick smell, the death smell he'd learned to associate with the _Sith_; although he had to admit the Jin boy had done everything that had been asked of him without question.

"I have Mekel on a leash," the Mission-ghost responded. "And anyways, he treats me like a person, unlike _some_ people."

Zaalbar groaned unhappily. She wasn't a person, she had no smell and no skin and no blood anymore. His own role in that struck him like a sharp thorn, not for the first time. "You're a wind in the leaves," he said, trying to make her understand. "But you don't grow, you don't change. You're a machine used to make things, with the memories of my old friend." _And daughter-cub,_ he thought to himself sadly, remembering her bright laughter and gentle teasing.

"That's not how your father or your tribe thinks of me!" she shot back.

"Now isn't the time to talk about that, Mission," Zaalbar groaned. The cubs were still screaming and it hurt his ears. He let out a roar of protest, loud enough to drown it all out.

He was roaring so loudly that he didn't hear the footsteps on the stair, didn't sense the men with guns until they broke into the room.

XXX

_Malachi D'Reev_

"Analysis: Based on current psychological reports, Captain Onasi's reconditioning will fracture. Projection: The recordings of his time spent with Captain Rew Ekkumi, and his interactions with other Fleet personnel, as well as the latest Manaan transcript, recommend initiation of an accelerated timeline."

The Senator chuckled. "I wasn't aware we were on a schedule, HK." He scrolled through the datapad again, tapping a few of the more pertinent facts into tabular columns for further study.

"Perceptive Extrapolation: If your organic assumptions are correct regarding Dustil Onasi's current whereabouts, the Captain's utility as a weapon may still be salvageable. Observation: for most sentients, few things in life are more motivational than a dead son."

Malachi D'Reev laughed out loud. "Don't try and bait me with that, your bucket of bolts." He stared at his droid fondly. Its red eyes gleamed.

"Of course not, Master. You are not like most sentients. That is why we get along so well. Observation: Rew Ekkumi and Jiya Sand are a destabilizing influence on the Captain. The recordings show a regrettable ambiguity in their loyalties. Much like the pilot himself, they may be untrustworthy allies."

The old man chuckled, "I could have told you that, HK. All allies are untrustworthy, by their very nature." He swirled his brandy. "There are no allies, there are only pawns."

It was hard to decide which would be better: a dead Dustil Onasi at Revan's hand, (assuming he was correct and that the boy had some means of tracking her through the Force); or a live Dustil that he could use later, for some other scheme. Either would suffice. As a boy, hawking with his father on their Corellian estates, Malachi had learned that sometimes the best way to hunt was to untie the jesses, and deactivate the bird's homing device. Wild things hunted more naturally free. So it might prove with the Onasi boy.

The game pieces were already in place-although events were moving more swiftly than he'd expected, and in unfamiliar directions. Vrook Lamar certainly wasn't helping matters and Manaan itself was becoming more trouble than it was worth . . .

_But Revan is on Coruscant now . . . somewhere._

You didn't need a thing like the Force to know that. It had been an almost brilliant move, using his own pawn against him. Seriina Starr was still refusing to take his calls-although as long as she wore that face, perhaps it was for the best. The surgery was good for realism on the holovids; but in a more personal sphere it was rather distasteful. He'd heard Seriina was wearing a holomask of her own face now while she tried to renegotiate the contract with Juut. She'd have no luck there.

But Manaan . . . frowning, he tapped the recording of Yuthura Ban and the pilot's conversation again. Their images appeared on a split screen, glowing above the surface of his polished desk.

"_We should talk," the Twi'lek said._

"_I'm all ears," muttered the pilot. He looked distracted._

"_I've seen the broadcasts," Yuthura Ban said. "You've been speaking about the scourge of the Sith and the rise of Darth Revan—but you know that's a lie."_

"_What I know is that Darth Revan has to be stopped." Carth was rubbing his head as if it pained him._

"_The woman I saved on Manaan was not the Sith Lord, Captain Onasi," said Yuthura Ban. "She was only a woman who had suffered as we all suffered. I feared her, but when I looked at you, I saw her hope . . . "_

Typical Jedi nonsense.

"_Do you ever wonder who has the most to gain by denouncing Revan Starfire? Do you ever wonder who winds you up and makes you dance?"_

_That _was more dangerous.

"_We're pawns," the reformed Sith continued. "Vrook doesn't tell me much, but at least I know I'm being used. You're a puppet and you don't even know whose hands pull your strings. This call is monitored. Have you ever wondered who listens?"_

The Senator shrugged to himself, and poured another glass of brandy. He'd interrupted the call before Yuthura's last words went through.

"_Do you ever wonder who started this? Do you ever wonder who started the Mandalorian Wars?"_

It always came back to Mandalore. How fitting they'd found a kinglet somewhere to drag out to beg on bended knee . . . of course, that was a sword that cut both ways as well. _Revan and Malak named their son more aptly than they knew . . . _

"Stop replay," he said to the console. "Query: Have you collected any more data on this Oerin Lin?" There were half a hundred bills before the Senate, but the Mandalorian measure was one he had a vested interest in. More than an interest. Like many things, it was a thread to weave into the cloth, another piece in the game.

"Affirmative: Master Klee has released the files from the Jedi Archive as you requested. The claim is legitimate. Fett Cassus Lin had six sons. Oerin Lin was the youngest. Issue of his seventh wife, Jana Novasun, a native of Ossus."

"Native of Ossus?" Malachi frowned. That _was_ unusual. Mandalorian men rarely married outside their own clans. And Ossus . . . either she'd have to be ancient or . . . _Sith._

"Query: Jana Novasun."

The console whirred. "Native of Ossus, deceased. Married Fett Cassus Lin on Malachor IV. One child. The place of her death is not recorded; but from the time stamp it can be inferred that she was killed at the same time as the rest of Clan Lin. Five years ago."

"Interjection: The HK-47 model was grossly negligent to let Oerin Lin survive."

Malachi laughed. "Perhaps, HK. But it serves us well now that he does. If he was dead, the title of Mandalore would pass to some other clan . . . "

He tapped his fingers on the desk. "Novasun," he mused. _It was fashionable years ago, for Jedi to take new surnames when they joined the Order. Sunrider, Cloudancer, Skywalker . . . a pack of ridiculous prancing fools._ He was glad the practice had fallen out of style by the time Malak was knighted. Revan herself bore the unfortunate moniker her father must have chosen during the wars with Exar Kun._ Starfire. _He wondered idly if the man had felt idiotic for choosing that name. After the Cron cluster's implosion, Starfire would have been in poor taste. _As terribly inappropriate as 'Novasun', actually. _"Was Jana Novasun registered as a Force user?"

"There are no records from Ossus," the console murmured.

_I know that. All the Jedi records were destroyed, and the Sith are too smart to keep any. _Officially, the planet was uninhabited to this day, although as with any place rumored to be a repository of ancient secrets that was a polite fiction. It lay in Sith-occupied space now. One of the useless prizes captured during the last war. _By my idiot son. _Malachi sighed.

"Hmmm . . . " Even if this 'Novasun' had been a Force-user, her son most certainly was not. Mandalorians were not Force-sensitive—they were one of the few races where the trait did not breed true. It was something he'd always admired about them. _Although, the old Rialis woman had asked me about that too, once, long ago. But I had no answers for her on that topic . . . _

"Master? There is another part of the holocomm recording from the Onasi apartments tonight that you might find interesting. Do you wish to view it?"

It would be impossible to wade through the hours of vid footage he'd collected of Carth Onasi himself. The HK did a commendable job extracting the highlights, although sometimes there was no substitute for an organic mind.

"Certainly." The Senator sat back in his chair. Captain Onasi was with Malachor in the kitchens having choca. He'd asked the pilot to put his grandson to bed. It would distract him for a time from worrying about Dustil. And they seemed fond of each other. Perhaps in the times to come, that could be useful, one way or the other.

The next part of the recording was from the beginning of the tape. Watching it, he felt a spark of the old thrill. Always pleasant, even after all this time, to be capable of surprise.

He knew the Deralian, of course. She'd served under his son, years ago. One of the troublemakers, constantly spewing her vitriolic nonsense about the Mandalorian Wars. Automatically, Malachi weighed the simple option of eliminating them all now again. It would be prudent to wait a few more days first and see what Revan did. If she was predictable, having a group of her Sith allies already imprisoned would satiate the public's appetite for justice.

"_Know her? Revan? Our Dark Lord of the Sith? The redeemed one? The one who gets off star-bloody free while the rest of us rot with the fish?"_

"_I didn't call about her. I wanted to ask you about Polla."_

_The Deralian laughed._

"_Polla Organa," the pilot said. "She—she's real, isn't she?"_

"What's this?"

"Reiteration: Master, this is the part of the dialogue I thought you would find interesting."

"Indeed," the Senator said softly. "I do." He took another sip of brandy.

"_I have six cousins named Polla Organa. But I think I know the one you mean. Yeah, she's real. Da says she's real pissed too. Oh, and she just had a baby, it's a boy." The Deralian made an unpleasant face._

Once Beya Organa had been attractive, Malachi remembered. But the years had not been kind.

"_You want to send her a present or something, Captain?"_

Malachi set his brandy down and leaned back in his chair. His laughter echoed through the room. Once started, he couldn't stop. Great booming laughter echoed off the marble walls.

"Sentimental Appreciation: It is good to see you so pleased, Master. I thought you would find this amusing."

"By their own standards of morality what the Jedi did to Revan was questionable enough . . . but . . . they used . . . a _real person's memories _to do it? Maffa-licking fools . . . _"_ The old man shook his head, still laughing and tapped the console. "I can understand why they hid this from me . . . Find her. Find this Polla Organa."

The terminal responded. "There are 3,865 denizens of Deralia registered with that name, cross-referencing for approximate age—"

Malachi snorted. "Cross-reference with any Republic ties." _That ought to narrow it down, Deralia is not a world known for its loyalty. They hang onto their colony status only for their own profit. _He pondered. "The Polla persona was a smuggler. Cross reference again against the index of registered Deralian pilots, and any recent registered births to mothers named Polla Organa."

The console whirred to itself, and a face appeared on the screen. Remarkable. Despite the difference in coloring there _was_ actually a physical resemblance.

"Polla Organa Wen, registered smuggler." _Only in the Outlier systems would they have registered smugglers._ You almost had to admire that."Registered address: Glory Road Farm, Adaston, on the continent of Derra. The sentient suffered a head injury approximately two point five years ago and was treated aboard the Republic capital ship, the _Ascendant, _one month after Darth Revan's capture."

_Which is when they asked my permission to wipe her mind. I doubt they asked Polla Organa's permission. Fools. I could rip them apart if the people knew their precious Jedi were stealing memories from Republic citizens . . . _

"Get me as much information as you can on her." One way or another, it would be useful. "And . . . " he pondered. _The girl just had a son. _"Send an anonymous gift. Something appropriate for the baby."

"Suggestion: perhaps a blanket? In his infancy the young Master was fond of his."

"Yes, HK, a blanket would be fine. Send it priority express."

Malachi D'Reev smiled. Revan had not taken the most predictable path; but that only made the game all the more interesting. _In a war, each side stockpiles what munitions it can before knowing the time and the place of the battleground._ Polla Organa was a sword he could hold over more than one neck, should the need arise. Poor girl.

_In the right hands, even the weakest piece on the board can turn the game. _

_XXX_

_Mekel Jin_

_These are not Moms' usual goons . . . _

That was the last coherent thought Mekel had for quite a while.

There were six of them, dressed in black and masked and armed with blasters. They came in firing. He'd been yelling at Dustil when the first bolt struck the wall, leaving a smoking hole in the cheap plimfoam. Zaalbar let out a howl and charged their assailants immediately, vibroblades unsheathed and flashing in the dim light. Mission opened fire back but her energy bolts glanced harmlessly off their shields.

Mekel called to the 'saber on the floor, as he ducked behind the bed. _Come on, come on . . . _The silver cylinder flew clumsily into his hand and ignited, searing the edge of the mattress and nearly taking off half of his face. _Double blade . . . shit, I don't know how to use this bloody thing . . . _His coat was heavy and awkward and he slipped out of it, dropping it to the floor. His injured hand hurt like hell, and even with the kolto injection he still felt like shit. He made the swollen knuckles close around the hilt anyways, so he was gripping it with both hands. _Focus, focus, don't die . . . _

_-Don't die, Mekel- _

And Dustil was just standing there in the middle of the room, gaping like an outer-rim plebe. A blaster bolt caught him full in the chest and he staggered, like a spark going out.

A vise gripped Mekel's heart too.

_No!_

_Mekel? Mekk? It—it hurts—it-_

Dustil's mind dimmed, startled, frightened and in pain. Mekel poured the Force back into the other boy with everything he had, leaping across the bed and charging their assailants himself. They'd switched to blades now, and four of them were on Zaalbar. Mekel cut one from behind with the edge of his 'saber. Half the man's torso fell cleanly, divided by the bright yellow light.

The man died instantly and somehow, behind him, Dustil was still standing. The air . . . _rippled_ and a hard red light bathed their assailants, like pure power. Dustil was channeling their energy back into himself, draining them. _How does he do that, how can he do that? _Even as he had the thought, the power rushed through Mekel too, exhilarating and pure and wonderful. One of the women advancing on Mission's chassis faltered when the red light licked against her and Mekel threw the 'saber at her, felt it sever her spine and then snap back again, cool and calm in his hands.

The world became slow and focused. Calm and strangely beautiful. More men at the door with disrupter rifles. A beam of energy shot at him, arching slowly and he deflected it with one side of his blade, sending it back. The doorframe splintered and burst into flame. Dustil called the lightning again. He was . . . laughing, Telos was laughing, and their enemies kept dying, lights winking out like an overtaxed grid. And each one was a whisper and a promise of power.

_This is what we were born to do._

Was it his thought or Dustil's? Mekel wasn't sure.

Zaalbar was already charging the reinforcements crouched in the doorway, with a wild bestial howl of pure rage and Mekel followed him, almost jealous of the two that the Wookiee's swords dispatched. Their blood was slippery on the cheap carpet. A blade came out of nowhere at the side of his peripheral vision and he met it with the beam of his saber, turning to face his assailant. This one was good, but he was no Force-user. Mekel was faster, and he drove the point of his saber into the man's wrist, severing it. The swordsman looked at him in dull shock—and Mekel laughed and twisted the blade across the man's torso, smiling as the beam cut through the light armor and the man fell down.

_My hand's stopped hurting. _The thought was oddly mundane. Was it his or Dustil's? He looked down at his hands. The bandaged one didn't hurt anymore.

The air was still and quiet suddenly, except for the sound of their breathing. All of their attackers were dead. Mekel realized Mission had been yelling at him through the collar for some time now, but he hadn't heard her.

_-I said, leave one alive you stupid sith-wannabe! We need to find out who sent them! What the frack was that, Mekel Jin? What's wrong with you?—_

"Are you okay, Big Z?" she said out loud. The T3 rolled awkwardly over the broken bodies on the carpet and came to the Wookiee. He had a bad blaster wound in his side, and a vibroblade slash on his arm. A deep one.

"Someone's coming," Dustil whispered. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were glassy and strange.

"Heal Big Z with the Force or something!" Mission said.

"We can't," Dustil muttered, barely glancing at her. He blinked and held out his hands, a red ball of light flickered into existence in it, and he looked at it dreamily, longingly. "More are coming, though-two more . . . " He had a faint smile on his face. Expectant. Longing.

Mekel's blood turned to ice as reality came back. _No. Not this again. Please no._

_More. _Two of them. Mekel heard their footsteps on the stairs. He reached out with the Force—and . . . Zaalbar was already pushing away from Mission and heading for the door with his blades in hand. Dustil still had that creepy smile on his face he glanced at Mekel with that old camaraderie they'd had in the bad old days, rolling marks in the alley, and moved forward, raising his hand again—

"Wait!" Dustil turned back at him questioningly and Zaalbar groaned something unintelligible.

_Don't, its Moms . . . it's my moms . . . _The thought was a scream. It wasn't just Moms either. The other presence slid around his attempts to identify it. _Moms and someone . . . someone strong._

_Stronger than us? _Dustil's thought was cocky, almost scornful.

_Wait . . . _

"Well, son." Moms looked almost proud as she came into the room, but a mock frown crossed her face. "You're going to have to pay for the damages, you know."

The figure behind her was cloaked and robed in black, its face covered by a golden lacquered mask. It was taller than Moms and it stepped forward, lifting black high heeled boots fastidiously over the layer of broken bodies stacked in the doorway.

"Your son has grown powerful, Deeka." The voice was tenor and husky. It sent chills up Mekel's spine. He knew the voice. Everyone in the Underground knew that voice. And feared it.

"My son is good at surviving." Moms beamed, as proud as she'd been when he rolled his first mark.

"As are his companions." The robed figure regarded them one-by-one. "Lord Revan's emissaries. I am pleased to see you." She murmured something formal to Zaalbar in Shyriiwook and nodded at Dustil.

"Arca," Mekel found his voice again. He tried to make it sound angry and not terrified. "Why did you send your goons after us?"

"Ambassador Arca," the robed one corrected. She removed the mask, revealing the golden-scaled face beneath. Falleen, like Master Iridel; but with black Sith lines etched like bars across her face, and burning damned eyes rimmed with red. "I'm pleased to see that your time among the Jedi didn't soften you entirely." The woman shrugged. "It was a test. If you'd fallen, Lord Revan would have been forced to send more of her followers to discover your fate. Or perhaps . . . come here herself. Since you live . . . you can deliver my message."

"I knew you'd be fine, dear," Moms smiled at him, and fluttered her cold black eyes. Mekel wondered how much she'd been paid to betray them. He'd been stupid to trust her. _I should have known better, should have known. Credits mean more than blood, they always have._

"Ambassador to _what_?" Dustil spat. Mekel wished he'd dare warn Telos to shut the hell up. You didn't mess with Arca. Everyone in the Underground knew that. Arca could be the ambassador to anything she wanted. You should nod and say yes and then get the hell out.

The Falleen smiled. "Ziost. They've asked me to represent them . . . in an unofficial capacity, you understand."

Mission whirred. "Arca Trinii. A near-legendary Underground Coruscanti figure with ties to the spice and slave trades, as well as black-market currency markets."

"I'd hoped to become more famous for my work with the media," Arca murmured softly. "We're working on a sequel to _the Underground Coruscanti Version_, you know." Her pointed teeth bared in a smile. "We're going to call it _The Return of the Sith."_

_What the frack is this, Mekk?_

_Shut up, Telos, shut up and nod and let's get the hell out of here._

"Mekel, honeygizka, Arca was just asking me, where's Darth Revan now?" Moms had that bright glittery smile on her face. The one that meant, _tell me or I'll send you to level 60. Or I'll make you wish I sent you to level 60._

"Darth Revan would not be pleased that you tried to harm us," Mekel ventured. His pulse thudded painfully in his chest.

The Wookiee opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it again. He groaned uneasily.

"Darth Revan wants your loyalty, Arca Trinii," Mission hissed back. Somehow she managed to say those words in a voice that sounded as scary as Revan's own.

The Falleen raised a brow ridge. "Of course she does, and she has it. That is the way of the Sith. As long as she is the Master, she has our loyalty-but you must understand. The officials on Ziost are wondering why hasn't she been in contact? In her absence . . . there has been some regrettable instability . . . certain factions—vie for power and those of us who are loyal . . . even we begin to wonder . . . "

Her eyes were burning red and yellow. They were, Mekel realized with a chill, just as mad as Jorak Uln's. Just as mad as Lord Malak's.

_This is where it leads, the dark side. Madness and death. This is the gift I give to you, Coruscanti son. We'll make it all burn. The big man was laughing like he did sometimes after he cried. Mekel plugged another kolto pack into the hole in his jaw and backed away fast before the big man hit him._

"_Revan_ would not be pleased you tried to harm us," Mission said angrily. Moms and the Falleen looked at her as if she was a piece of furniture that had decided to talk.

"Let me handle this, Blue," Mekel whispered.

Dustil's eyes were still glassy and vacant. Those deaths had hit him pretty hard. For all that Telos liked to talk tough, he wasn't used to this, he didn't really understand what it was like.

_Let me handle this, Dustil, _Mekel thought at him. _Trust me, don't mess with Arca._

The Falleen looked at him curiously. "I can understand what the Dark Lord would want with the Onasi boy, and the Wookiee has proven his worth, but what does Darth Revan want with you, Mekel?"

_-Asshole, she didn't even acknowledge me at all. Tell her to frack off. She's nothing but a cheap holovid version of a Sith wanna-be Lord. Polla-Revan could eat her for breakfast if she really was a Sith again.—_

Mekel tried to shrug carelessly. "Dark Lords of the Sith seem to like me."

Moms grinned. "He's a handsome boy, I suspect he has his uses. I know I've had patrons asking about him ever since he came back from Korriban, but Mekel's too good for Moms' little club now, too happy with his powerful friends to care about his poor Moms at all."

Even in the Underground, it was considered bad form to hit your own mother. Not to mention Arca would probably kill him before he took two steps across the floor.

_-Your mom makes Griff look like a loving brother, Mekel Jin . . . I'm—sorry . . . —_

­"She is what she is," Mekel whispered. "What's the message for Lord Revan," he said in a louder voice, trying to sound important.

"We are poised to strike against the Jedi Council, at her command." Arca smiled coldly. "Of course, if her command does not come soon, we will strike regardless. A dozen Darths vie for power now that the Manaan games are finished. There is little accord, but in that, all are united."

_-Ask how they plan on striking with no fleet and no army, gizka-breath.—_

"You have no fleet," Mekel echoed. "How do you plan on striking?" He could guess the answer, but he asked anyways. Maybe Mission didn't know. Not everything the Sith did was done with soldiers.

The Falleen laughed. "If _Darth Revan_ cannot answer that question herself, the Jedi have truly shattered her." She spread her hands open, mocking the Jedi gesture of peace. "And then she will die with them."

Dustil looked at him, uncertainly. Almost like the old days, when he'd been a fish out of water, and Mekel had to teach him to walk.

_This is what happens with all your killing and angst, Telos boy. _Mekel thought at him coolly. _You go madder than a Sullistan in a dairy farm. Trust me, just agree with whatever she says, and let's get out of here._

"I'll tell Lord Revan. If she wants to be in touch, how shall I tell her to contact you, Lord Arca?" He tried not to put too much emphasis on the 'Lord' title, but he saw her eyes flash in pleased recognition of it.

_-Okay. Listen. You're _not _going to tell Polla-Revan about this, Mekel Jin.—_

"Huh?" He said that out loud. Mekel tried hard not to look confused.

"Your mother's establishment is as good a place as any, and Deeka will not mind carrying our messages, will you, pet?"

"Of course not," Moms said. Right then Mekel hated her, hated the obsequious groveling tone of her voice with a rage so black that it scared him.

_-You're not going to tell Polla-Revan about this. Big Z isn't gonna tell her and I'm not gonna tell her. Understand?—_

Mission's voice in his head was toneless, but the words reverberated along his skull with an ache that shot up his spine.

"Okay," Mekel said out loud, still trying to hide his confusion. He took a cautious step towards the door and slipped on something. A dead person, half-eviscerated by Zaalbar's blades. He refused to look down and see it.

_Come on, Telos, follow us out the door. Now._

"Mekel, dear?" Moms coughed. "You've made a mess in here, I will expect compensation."

"You have a bank account registered on Duria, with the Coruscanti branch of Intergalactic Federal Savings Loan. Its balance has increased by ten thousand credits," Mission's voice was crisp. "Don't frack with us, Deeka Jin, we are far more powerful than you can imagine."

"_That_ remains to be seen," Arca murmured.

_-Fracking pathetic nutter Sith-wannabes . . . We need to move, Mekel Jin. This place is going to get raided. And soon.—_

Mission beeped a series of short sharp chimes at Zaalbar and the Wookiee growled uneasily again, gesturing. Dustil still had that blank confused look on his face. Mekel wished he could slap it off.

"Come on," the T3 said out loud in Basic, and rolled out the door. They trailed behind her, even Dustil, leaving Moms and the Ambassador to Ziost behind in the trashed suite.

Outside Katti Base was still in her cage. She purred hopefully at them—no at Dustil. But Telos ignored her completely. The dazed look was finally off his face and the sullen angry one was back. _Big surprise._

"What the frack was that, Mekel?"

"That was the _Sith_, you dumb pleb!" Mekel shot back. "Is that what you want to be?"

Telos turned pale. _I—couldn't control it. It felt like—_

_Did we even go to the same school, Telos? I _know_ what it felt like! You want to be like that? You want to be like Arca?_

_She was . . . powerful, she was—_

_Insane. She was insane. She sent Sith assassins after us for fun. _That's_ what it's like Telos. They all go crazy. You're going to go crazy too if you don't stop this banthashit!_

"Move. Now." Mission was using Revan's voice. She must have it recorded somehow. There was no questioning the command in the tone. They moved. Somewhere behind them, Katti called out a good-bye.

Steam from the pipes overhead cast the street in shadows and fog, lit only by the lurid holosigns of the joy district. _Mom's _was only one in a long row of brothels on this street, a street nearly deserted . . . _which is odd, because this time of night, normally there'd be tricks and marks and pervs all over the place . . . _

"So, Sithboy," Mission chirped. "Are you coming with us or not?" Blue lights flashed on her dome.

Dustil whirled and faced her, staring down at her chassis with pure hate in his eyes. "Coming with _you_? When you go back to your Sith Master?"

"Polla-Revan is _not_ a Sith, you stupid nerf-sack!" Mission's voder sounded exasperated. "And that's why we're not gonna tell her about this. You can do whatever the frack you want, Dustil Onasi—I don't care." Her voice turned ugly. "But if you hurt Polla-Revan, or Mekel, or Big Z, or the child, or your own father . . . I'll make you suffer punishments that make Sith teachings look like an Ewok party."

"You? you're nothing! You . . . _thing!"_

Dustil raised his hand threateningly at her and Mekel shoved him as hard as he could, knocking him back. Telos swayed on his feet, suddenly, and his hand went to his chest, where the fabric of his jacket was scorched and blackened. His face was very pale, it almost gray in the dim light.

"I—I'm—I'm leaving," Dustil said. Underneath the surface his thoughts boiled. Mekel didn't want to see the shape of them. He realized suddenly he'd forgotten his coat upstairs. His hand tightened around the hilt of his saber that he was still clutching in his hand. _At least I remembered this . . . _

Dustil's mouth opened and closed. For a second he looked just as lost as he had the day he'd showed up on Korriban. Or the day Mekel had had to explain to him that Moms' offer of a job didn't just mean serving drinks to the patrons, and that was why they weren't going to take her up on it, why they had to sleep in a squat and roll pervs in the alley instead.

_Are you okay, Telos?_

_Leave me alone! _The rebuke was like a slap in the face. The walls between them slammed shut again.

Dustil turned and walked away. Fast. The sides of his long coat billowed around him like a cape.

Zaalbar growled a long series of sounds that sounded like questions. Mission answered him in Basic.

"He doesn't know anything." It was Mission's voice, but it sounded oddly strained, almost metallic. "There's no jeopardy to our plan. Maybe-maybe he'll get over it." It almost sounded as if she were trying to sound unconcerned. If she'd been real, Mekel could have read her emotions. As it was, he tried to catch the nuances in her voder.

Zaalbar growled something that could have been disagreement. Mekel could sense the Wookiee's intentions, dimly, like through a mist. The Wookiee disagreed with Mission about telling Revan about the Sith, he thought. Mekel didn't understand what Mission meant about that either.

"If there's a plan against the Jedi Council, we should . . . warn them or something," Mekel stammered.

"It's none of our business," Mission responded. To both of them. "Polla-Revan's got enough to deal with now. I'm not adding to her concerns. The Jedi can take care of themselves. Besides . . . " Lights beeped on her dome. "Jedi and Sith fight, that's what they do. I will not allow our primary objectives to be compromised because of some silly religious war. Historical projections show it will end as it always does. The Jedi always win, they don't need our help, and they don't need to frack with Polla-Revan anymore!"

"That's an order, by the way," she added, in Revan's voice. "Don't tell her about the Sith thing. Or I'll flay-the-flesh-from-your-bones."

Zaalbar growled, warningly.

"Listen, Big Z! Do you _want_ your people to go on being slaves? Did the Jedi ever lift a finger to stop that? Any resultant instability can only serve to _help_ our plans for Kashyyyk! Don't be dumb about this . . . please?"

The Wookiee sighed. In the direction Dustil had gone, searchlights flared to life suddenly, cutting through the mist like beacons. An alarm went off and there was the sound of sirens and shouts.

"Sector raid," Mission chirped. "Come on, there's an access panel to the sewers in the next alley over. We need to get out of here before they seal it off."

"CoruSec never raid down here," Mekel muttered, already moving towards the alley towards the square metal plate in the ground. His mind turned the tumblers of the lock automatically and it sprung open in front of them.

Mission rolled along beside him, beeping softly to herself. It almost sounded like laughter. "Well, someone wants the distributor of the _Coruscanti Underground Version_ real bad . . . it's—let's just say possible—that an anonymous tip might have been sent regarding her location . . . and your moms is gonna have to pay a big fat fine, Mekel Jin. Not to mention how she'll explain all those dead sents - I hope she can afford it."

Zaalbar groaned something that could have been a curse as they started climbing down the spiraling stairs to the sub-sub level. Mission's treads slid awkwardly on the narrow steps and her metal chassis slammed into Mekel's back. She was heavier than she looked and he grunted in pain.

"Wait. Let me . . . " Mekel pulled on the Force, held out his hand, trembling with the effort and levitated her a few inches above the steps, moving her chassis with his mind until they reached level ground. Mission splashed down softly in the muck of the sewers. Zaalbar groaned again. It sounded like a protest.

"I know it smells bad, Big Z! So does your breath! Come on, we need to keep moving . . . "

"Thanks, Mekel," she added. "That was nice of you."

Her treads rolled awkwardly through the slime. A beam of light from her dome illuminated the area in front of them. Mekel ignited his 'saber again to add more light. The granslugs were huge down here, but they didn't like the light.

XXX

_Revan_

"Have some more dewback." Aemelie beamed at Revan, leaning forward across the table with the meat-covered plate. It was just past dawn and the last thing Revan wanted was a dripping bloody haunch that looked barely cooked, but there was no polite way to refuse. She nodded and selected the smallest chunk she could find, spearing it with the blade of her dagger.

Gwenarius had given her the dagger with great ceremony at the beginning of the meal. Canderous' two wives-she was still trying to register the fact that Canderous _had_ two wives; not to mention two children who were still in the cradle and couldn't possibly really be his-sat across from her, looking as expectant as a herd of tame trawler deer waiting for lumps of sugar.

"Great kaffa," Revan said finally, when they failed to make more conversation. She'd barely slept at all, worrying about Zaal and Mekel and Mission who still hadn't returned. _I'm sure they're fine. If they weren't Mission would have sent word. I promised Zaalbar I would not interfere . . . _

"Clan Lin should join with Clan Ordo," Gwenarius pronounced, weighing her voice with the authority of a Clan Mother. "Will you accept our proposal?"

"Ordo and Lin are already pledged," Revan said. "What other terms would you require?" The meat stuck in her throat and she forced herself to swallow it down.

"Blood ties are men's ways. Clan Lin adopted you in the old traditions; we would do the same."

"The same-you wish me to bear a child for Ordo?" Revan tried to think of a polite way to decline, even as part of her imagined the look on Carth's face when she told him that their as yet unborn and completely imaginary offspring was actually a Mandalorian. _Of course, this is in a world where Carth doesn't hate me . . . _The brief flash of amusement turned to ashes in the back of her throat. She drank another swig of caffa quickly. Gwenarius' daughter was stirring restlessly in her mother's arms. Revan smiled at the small round face surrounded by curls of brown hair. The little girl-maybe almost a year old-beamed back at her.

"Can I hold her?" Revan asked softly.

"Of course." The Mandalorian passed the child across the table and into Revan's arms. She squirmed there uncertainly for a moment and then settled in. Revan bent her head and buried her nose in the sweet smell of the baby's hair.

_This seems so simple. If I could hold Malachor like this . . . But he's older, he's eight. Would he still let me hold him like this? _

"We would hope you would have many children for Ordo," Gwen said, eyeing her. "And at least some of your husband's stock. He's good breeding material. Millifar is one of the brightest young warriors here on Coruscant. Comely too. Although it is unfortunate she has his chin and not mine. Among our clans Canderous is well-regarded. As am I. Joining us would erase some of the inevitable doubts that will arise . . . regarding your outlander status and the way you bested Fett Cassus . . . " She raised an eyebrow meaningfully.

The baby squirmed in Revan's arms and she dropped the piece of flatbread she'd been trying to feed the child, almost dropping the little girl too in her shock.

"You want me to marry C-Canderous? _Your_ husband_?" Try not to sound so shocked; try not to make them think you are insulted. Don't offend them; this is delicate as walking on razors as it is . . . but he's already married . . . twice . . . and he's . . . _

_He's my _friend_. And he's not Carth. My life is complicated enough as it is. _

"Have you asked Canderous about this?" Revan ventured, trying not to imagine what his response would have been.

"He says you'll refuse us," Aemelie broke in, scowling. "But he's just a man; they don't really understand these things."

"I'm in love with someone else," Revan protested.

"Milli told us you went to see Captain Onasi last night. If you wanted the pilot why didn't you just take him? Surely the woman who defeated Fett Cassus and scattered our people across the stars could manage a minor abduction on a Coruscanti street?" Gwenarius was scowling at her now.

"It wasn't safe," Revan said. "Until I have my son . . . I can't risk trying to get to Carth. Malachi D'Reev has twisted Carth somehow . . . he hates me-until I have Malachor I can't-" she realized she was babbling. The little girl cooed in her lap and batted her cheek with a small soft hand.

"Malachor," Aemelie muttered. "You're really going to have to do something about that name. How would you like it if I named this one Serroco? Or Althir? Or Dxun" She rocked the small boy in her arms, soothing his fretting.

_Battles the Republic lost in the Mandalorian Wars._ Revan felt like the words should mean something more than that, but they were only words. Facts she'd read. Carth looked like a man who had lost everything. He looked broken, just as Jopheena said. What did they do to him and how was it done?

_We didn't lose Dxun. Although sometimes I think . . . sometimes-Red, what are you planning? Revan, listen to me. What are you planning? I can only see pieces. You shut me out. You shut out both of us. Listen to me, Red. _

She was getting better at ignoring Malak's dead voice in her head. It was easy. Like the points on the Corellian spire, like banging her head against the bulkheads. _Just think about something else._

Mission had promised to look into what had happened to Carth on the _Pearl_, but they knew nothing yet.

Mission and Zaalbar and Mekel. Where were they? _Mission can tap into the communications grids. If there was trouble, she'd have sent word. She didn't, so they must be fine._

_But she's kept things from me before. She's a computer. She's . . . No, they're fine, they have to be fine . . . _

Gwenarius' daughter nestled in the crook of her arm. She buried her nose in the baby's sweet-smelling hair.

"From what my husband has told us, the Jedi took your memories away from you. Perhaps in your ignorance of civilized customs you misunderstand the importance-and the honor-of our request?" Gwen asked. "The title of Mandalore is not hereditary by default- Lin has held it only by strength for the last century - by the older traditions there is no reason why Mandalorians would automatically owe you or Oerin allegiance. However, with Ordo's support your rule would be unquestioned. Our clan and our husband have the strength of arms to hold it for you. No other clan can offer you as much."

"By the customs of your people you owe me allegiance regardless," Revan answered, trying to keep her voice cold. "I defeated the Fett and your armies. And Ordo is allied with Lin already. Oerin told me this. Canderous told me this. I don't need to marry someone to hold my claim."

Their sullen silence told her she was right.

"I don't understand your reticence," Aemelie argued, pouring more kaffa for them all. "Canderous is quite skilled in every arena. And we are willing to put up with whatever barbarous mating customs you outlanders have-within reason . . . " She frowned. "Although I do have to ask, Gwen and I watched a vid, _Revan's Private Lessons at the Academy_-do the Jedi really use their lightsabers during-"

"Aemelie, you're embarrassing her. Don't bring shame to us" Gwen mercifully interrupted. "Look at her; she's blushing like a man."

"I want to marry Carth," Revan said quietly, realizing it was true. Horribly, depressingly true.

Aemelie shrugged at Gwenarius. "Canderous said she'd refuse. I really thought we could reason with her . . . " Her eyes narrowed and she sighed. "If Oerin manages to get blooded perhaps Millifar would consider him-"

"My daughter seems overly fond now," Gwen said. "We're fortunate he was raised properly. We'll have to raise your son properly" she said to Revan. "In the old ways. Perhaps in time Aemelie's babe might consider him, if she lives."

"_I_ will decide how to raise my son," Revan answered. _I have no idea how to raise a child. I have no idea how to be a mother._ The little girl wiggled on her lap and stuffed a hunk of bread into her mouth from the table. Revan wondered if a child so small was supposed to eat something so large but the Mandalorians didn't raise an eyebrow.

Gwenarius shrugged and began to describe Mandalorian weddings. Naturally they involved blood and knives.

_Naturally, Red. I thought you'd take off my jaw._

Malak's hollow laughter echoed in her head.

_Not real, he's not real. _Revan focused on Gwenarius' descriptions as if they were the most important thing in the universe.

The door opened and Millifar came in, braids loose and hair down her back like sheaves of yellow wheat. "We've set up fire circles on the roof, Mother," she said. "For the stupid festival. And the hired slaves are waiting in the ballroom." She glanced at Revan. "If _she_ is going pass as one of them, she should disguise herself and join them soon, lest the others wonder where she came from later. Did she agree to our suit?"

"She did not," Gwen said, with a faint smile on her lips, watching her daughter's face.

"Then you'll need to tie Ordo to Lin in some other way," the girl said, too blandly.

Gwenarius got up from the table. "I'm sure we'll think of something, daughter."

XXX

**A/N **Despite never having actually read more than three pages of Tolstoy, I wonder if I'm taking this "unhappy families" thing a bit far. Hm...

Maybe I should read Tolstoy and find out. Eh...no.

In general, glad you guys liked the Mandalorians! I have been thinking about how to do them for a while...and, might I say, they throw good parties too.

Next up: the party at the Mandalorian Embassy. Dewbacks on spits! Carth! Revan! Etc... I guess it's not a spoiler to say that you can expect a reunion...also, a lower body count.

**Tim Radley**

Really glad you liked Telos motivation, I've been working up to that for a while...it's not a rational reason to destroy a planet certainly, but very little about these Sith is rational... There is of course, still some ground to cover there. And actually, I think the fangirls will be back. And, as you can see, like the best intentions, the reunion went badly...

**ether-fanfic**

Thank you again for betaing this! Re: the things that you suggested I cut and the thing I didn't put back in (I agree with you, re: length on that one segment), they will be back, will incorporate them later...yeah, I am fascinated by the idea of a Mekel/ Malak now... and your HK! Okay, I am still laughing. Still. Arghhhh...

**Rose7**

I suspect _Mom's_ will make you snicker even more now. Or something. Lol.

There's not a ton of deliberate Mandalorian fan fiction, what there are are references to it. Athena Prime is probably the bible on it; but the way several others have addressed their culture also suggests things...Tim, Winterfox, and Prisoner all have good takes on em too.

Oh most definitely. Polla Organa is going somewhere. (Even if she herself never leaves Deralia.)

**snackfiend101**

Well as you can see...no, not exactly. But maybe they worked out some angst? Or flirted with the Darkside, who can say. (Well okay, I can say, and I will. But not quite yet.../cue of ominous music/

**Prisoner 24601**

Okay, Mekel's mom is no Darth Cher, but she does have feathers in her hair. Please don't kill me for my evil Dustil-ness! He's...he's troubled. I know it's a cliché for him to be troubled...but he is.


	20. Much More Than a Party

_**Disclaimer: **as previous. A/N at end. Crossing fingers for the upload. This chapter is...gee, long. Second try, adding all the spaces that didn't make the first._

**Chapter 20 / Much More Than a Party**

_Carth Onasi_

"You look good, Dad," Dustil said, adjusting the ice pack over his black eye. He still refused to tell Carth what had happened. It's not every day you end up bailing your son out of an underground CoruSec jail - the kind of place where posting 'bail' is more like paying a bribe than anything else - but Carth realized he couldn't push Dustil any farther.

_Whatever it was, at least it had nothing to do with Revan. And at least he's safe now. Force, I can't believe he's been living down in hellholes like that for the last six months . . . _

The squalor of the Underground shocked Carth, and he'd seen a lot of things in his time. But it was the contrast in extremes - between the clean luxury of life up here and the desperation of the underground dwellers that shook him to his core.

_Coruscanti sublevels make Taris look like paradise . . . _

_"Boys will be boys," Malachi D'Reev had said, almost jovial, when they got the call early the next morning. It had taken half the day, even with the old man's influence, to get Dustil out of that stinking cell. Something about property damage and inciting a public riot. _

_"Trumped up charges," the old man sneered. "They know who he is, they know who you are, and they just want to dip their beaks." He too seemed like he'd been expecting something else. In fact, it was strange . . . but Carth thought the old man looked almost disappointed to find only a sullen Dustil sitting in the corner of a cell. _

_The Senator was just worried we'd find Revan. Worried it was some kind of trap. Not disappointed, worried. _

Carth fiddled with the buckles of the elaborate coat again, frowning at his reflection. "I look like a paper Admiral," he muttered. He wished he could get away with wearing something less formal, but Ekkumi had warned him, Coruscanti society expected its most glittering lights to . . . well, glitter.

"So you really like Ekkumi, huh?" Dustil rubbed his swollen knuckles with his uninjured hand. His ankle was wrapped in bandages and splints and propped up on the couch. Only a sprain, D'Reev's medical droid had assured them. A faint smile played around his son's lips. For a boy who'd spent twelve hours in stir, he looked entirely too pleased with himself. Carth frowned at him again.

_I could kill you for making me worry like that last night, Dustil._

"She's — she's a good woman," Carth answered out loud.

"Rew's nice, Dad," Dustil said. "If I did something bad would you give up on me like you gave up on _Revan_?"

"It's not the same thing," Carth tried not to wince at the abrupt change of subject. "I'm proud of you, Dustil."

The boy's smile turned crooked. "No matter what I've done?"

"You're still my son, Dustil. No matter what." _Even if I still want to kill you for making me worry. _"If you ever pull a stunt like that again, you'll be grounded until you're forty," he added.

Dustil's hand was picking at the splint on his ankle. The smile faded from his face. In its absence, Carth realized how artificial it had been.

"Dad, do you know anything about Force bonds?"

"I — I've seen them before . . ."

"Revan and Bastila had one, right?"

"They did, yes."

His son's face was perfectly blank. "Do you think that's what made them fall?"

"I — I don't know."

_Carth kissed her harder, and they rolled over on the floor of the cockpit, fingers scrabbling at the thin layers of cloth that separated them. They were on the way to Dantooine, and they'd locked the cockpit door._

"_No, go away," Polla muttered._

_Carth pulled back, touched her bare arm tentatively. "Polla?"_

"_I said, go away!" she hissed. "Get out my fracking head!" Her face twisted. It was as if he wasn't there at all, she was talking through him, talking to thin air._

"_If this isn't what you want, it's okay, beautiful — I — I understand," Carth said. _

It's too soon, _he thought_; too soon for both of us.

_Before he could stop her Polla slammed her head against the durasteel wall of the bulkhead. The sound was horrible, crack of bone against metal. Her head rolled back on her shoulders, loose, a thin line of blood tracing down her temple. "Go away," she whispered again. "Get out of my head, Bastila! This is none of your damn business! Some things are fracking private!"_

_Carth held her tightly, stopping her from doing it again. She twisted in his arms - she was so strong - but he outweighed her. He held her down; outside, someone was hammering on the door. He heard Bastila's voice, and behind her, Zaalbar's alarmed growls and Mission's protestations. _

"_Open the door, please, Carth. I need to speak to Polla now."_

"_They're busy," Mission giggled. "You should leave them alone."_

_Polla slammed her head again, this time into the floor. She . . . keened, a thin high sound of pain and he heard Bastila gasp. "Get out of my HEAD!" _

"_Slice the lock, Mission," the Jedi said, shakily. "Slice it now."_

_Carth pulled Polla onto his lap, wiping the blood away from her eye. She'd reopened the old injury from Taris. Her face was so pale he could see the faint dusting of freckles on the tip of her nose. He found his voice, somehow, angry, confused, embarrassed and frightened. _

"_Security: disengage." It was a straightforward security system. Anyone inside the cockpit could lock it with a vocal command. _

_The door slid open. Polla's eyes opened, green and cold and furious. She sat up in his lap, rubbing her forehead. Bastila stood in the doorway, arms folded, glaring at them both._

"_I told you that through our bond I feel what you do," Bastila said. "And I told you that Jedi do not form . . . casual attachments. The Force is not a toy, Polla Organa. And you cannot continue to act like a hormone-crazed adolescent . . . "_

_The Wookiee growled something, gesticulating at the Jedi. _

_When Polla blushed her nose turned pink. It was pink now. She disengaged herself from his arms and got to her feet, absently pulling the top of her coverall back up over her bare chest. Carth stood up too, realizing his own clothes were in a similar state of disarray. _

"_I don't know about your Force, sister," he said coldly. "But whatever you just did to Polla, you should stop it. This is really . . . none of your business."_

"_I only wish that were true." Bastila's blush gave her two high spots of color, red on her cheeks. "For better or for worse, Captain Onasi, Polla Organa and I share a Force bond. What one of us feels so does the other. And she is untrained, which compounds the situation . . . tenfold. Jedi do not engage in carnal . . . activities . . . and Polla must learn — "_

"-_ I am no Jedi," Polla interrupted, her voice low and furious. "And I didn't ask to be bonded to you, Bastila Shan. Even if I do have this Force thing you keep yammering about, I'm still me, and I'm an adult. What I choose to do on my own time is none of your business. I don't need you peeking in my thoughts, spying on me . . . coming into my dreams . . ."_

_Her dreams were always nightmares. That was one of the first things Carth had learned about her._

"_You have no choice in this matter. When we reach Dantooine we must go before the Masters. You have no training, no control, and you must learn these things. Love is a distraction, a danger. Passion can lead to the dark side and you are woefully unprepared. Irresponsible. You endanger us both." There was a sheen of sweat on Bastila's forehead. Carth suddenly had the sensation that behind all these words another battle was being fought between the two women. Out of sight, through the thing they called the Force._

"_I dunno," Mission said. "Seems to me this is really none of your biz, Bastila. I think they're kind of cute together."_

"_Mission, go away," both of them snapped. Almost in unison._

"_Geez, whatever . . . c'mon Big Z, let's go see what Canderous is doing." The Wookiee waved his arms again and followed the Twi'lek girl away down the hall._

"_I can do whatever I want," Polla said sullenly._

_Bastila flushed more. "You . . . broadcast your feelings. What you feel, I feel. Do you understand? What you are doing wasn't private. At all."_

"_Then don't fracking listen to it," Polla said. "I didn't ask to have you in my head, I didn't ask for the Force. I've lived perfectly well for twenty-eight years without it, and I don't intend to start becoming some kind of celibate robe-wearing ninny now, just because it's awkward for _you!"

"_I can see your thoughts," the Jedi said, her artificial composure cracking. "You're frightened of what's happening to you and cling to the pilot like a child clings to a stuffed toy. Do you think that's the basis for a relationship? Even if I wasn't involved in this — and make no mistake I cannot help but be involved in this — is this really the way an adult acts?"_

"_Naturally_, you're_ the expert on these things," Polla said, her voice dripping sarcasm. "You're . . . nineteen standard? And oh-so-worldly . . . "_

"_Just — wait, that's all I ask." Bastila's voice sounded frightened, almost. "When we get to Dantooine . . . perhaps the Masters will think of some way to . . . to . . . teach you to control yourself. But now . . . what you feel, I feel . . . and . . . for my sake, please. Restrain yourself."_

"_It's not my bloody fault you're saving yourself for some Jedi hero right out of a holovid," Polla shot back. "I can see him in your mind at night when I sleep. Tall, gray robes, brown hair. You dream about him all the time . . . I thought you said Jedi don't have base urges? Some of the things you imagine him doing seem pretty base to me . . . and you're jealous, jealous of someone else . . . " Her eyes narrowed. "It's not you he likes, is it? He's in love with someone else . . . don't blame me for your own shortcomings, Bastila!"_

"_Our — bond makes things . . . confused," the Jedi whispered. Her lips tightened, and she pulled out her lightsaber, igniting it. Carth moved forward, protectively, but Polla pulled his arm back._

"_Stay out of this, Carth," she muttered. "It's between us." Her voice was cold and strangely empty._

_Polla stepped in front of him, facing Bastila. She crossed her arms, and shifted her weight, assuming a defensive stance._

_Bastila grimaced. "You cannot win, Polla." _

_The Jedi rolled up her sleeve and brushed the blade's yellow beam against her own bare forearm, gritting her teeth and pulling it back fast. The air smelled like scorched skin. Bastila flinched; but it was Polla who screamed, Polla who crumpled to the ground, cradling her arm to her chest. A hiss and the blade disengaged. Bastila's face was pale with shock, but expressionless. She held out her arm, almost proudly, displaying the angry red weal of the burn stamped on her skin._

"_What one of us feels so does the other," she said, through gritted teeth. Healing white light floated like a cloud in her hands, washing over them both. The angry red burn faded. "Do you understand, _now_?"_

"_I'll go before your _Masters,_ Bastila." Polla's voice was hoarse and furious. "And I'll learn how to sever this bond. I don't want you in my head." _

_Carth knelt down to comfort her, but she pushed him away, getting up to her feet again, painfully. Something unspoken seemed to pass between the two women and Bastila moved aside._

"_I'm sorry," the Jedi whispered. Polla ignored her and went past._

"_You've got a lot of nerve, sister!" Carth snarled, turning on Bastila._

"_I don't expect you to understand, Carth," Bastila replied. There was an expression of fixed serenity on her face now, as if nothing had happened. "But as the commander of this mission, I expect you to follow my orders. Stop this . . . affair, now. It is more dangerous than you realize. For both of you." She stared at the floor as if it was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen. The two spots of color burned in her cheeks. "And for me."_

"_When we get to Dantooine, you and your Masters better have a good explanation . . ." Carth warned her, furious. _

_From somewhere down the hallway they heard a man's grunt of surprised pain, and the sound of something heavy crashing to the ground, and then a stream of curses._

"_You weenka-eyed, mud-flapping fracking _kissra!_ Mind your own damn business, Canderous! Doesn't anyone on this bloody ship have anything else to do, besides think about what Carth and I — " Polla's curses shifted into another language, Mandalorian, maybe. There was the sound of running feet, and Mission's excited voice, Zaalbar's growls of indignation._

"_This isn't finished," Carth muttered, pushing past Bastila and breaking into a run down the hall. The Jedi was right behind him._

_Something changed after Dantooine. Polla and Bastila came to some kind of accord. But Polla kept her distance after that - almost as if she was afraid of him. Until that night in Tatooine, when they were both drunk, and Bastila was already asleep._

"_What about the bond?" Carth asked her, as they lurched out of the cantina, their feet locked in step, and his arm around her waist. She nuzzled the warmth of his neck._

"_Frack it," Polla whispered. "I've learned something since Dantooine. Bastila hides things from me and I can hide things from her." She sounded smug. "I've been waiting for this for a long time, flyboy. No Jedi princess is gonna get between us now."_

_But she had gotten between them. Afterwards, after the _Leviathan,_ when Bastila fell . . . when Polla changed to Revan . . . ._

"I've seen what a Force bond can do, son." Carth repeated, uneasily. His memories were treacherous, his thoughts were traitorous.

Dustil looked away from him and shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "Wh-what one person feels, the other one feels too."

"Revan felt . . . Bastila fall," Carth said. _Sometimes I wonder if that's why she fell too. Sometimes I wonder if it was her fault. Sometimes I wonder if it was mine. Bastila warned me, warned me to stay away from her. She warned us both but we didn't listen. _"Why are you asking me this now, son?"

The flat look in Dustil's eyes was inscrutable. When Morgana looked like that Carth had never known what she was thinking. The look meant that she wasn't going to tell him.

"No reason," Dustil said, shrugging. "Just . . . you know, Mekel and I could sometimes tell what each other were thinking."

_Mekel Jin went to meet that computer, Mekel Jin could be with Revan now. Dustil said he was going to use Mekel to find Revan . . . _

The commlink chimed, four chimes, his ride was downstairs.

"You going to be okay, here, son?" Carth stifled his growing feeling of unease. _D'Reev sent more guards to the building, this place is a fortress. Dustil won't be able to get out and no one will be able to get in . . . _

Dustil gestured at the tray of snacks on the table, the stack of holochips. "Going to have myself a party. It beats the Underground lock-up."

"Did you go to meet Mekel last night, Dustil? Is that where you went?"

His son's eyes opened wide, black and empty like space. "I went to a brothel, Dad." He shrugged. "You know . . . "

"_Boys will be boys," the Senator said with an amused chuckle._

The commlink chimed again.

"When I get back, we're going to have a talk," Carth said. "Places like that . . . there are some things . . . you're too young . . . "

"I'm _not_ a kid," his son said.

"_I'm not a kid, you old geezer!"_

"We're going to talk about this, Dustil," Carth warned him again.

"Sure," his son said carelessly. "Have fun at your party, Dad."

XXX

_Revan_

The head waiter surveyed his charges, a faint sneer on his lips. "One of you needs to stand by the reception line, offering drinks," he said. "Are there any volunteers?" The row of liveried staff shifted uncomfortably. None of them seemed very fond of the Mandalorians.

"I'll do it," Revan offered, stepping forward.

The man frowned at her, checking her face against the list on his datapad. "The new girl," he said. "Iphee Daks. Are you sure that you can handle this? I was going to put you on dewback duty . . . " His nose wrinkled, and Revan had a vision of herself standing by one of the pits turning the spit. _That wouldn't work at all._

"I'm sure," she said calmly, pulling at the Force to ensure the certainty in her words. She'd been working on the calm all day. _In some ways, this is only a dry run; this is the easiest thing I will have to face in the days ahead. _It was a relief to be anonymous, hidden under the absurd holomask that made her feel like a cheap starlet. She shook her head slightly and almost felt the yellow hair move around her face. The face might be vapid, but it was a very good holomask. She smiled her best confident smile.

"Fine," the head waiter said. "Take the tray, the kegs are already set up . . ." His nose wrinkled again at the word 'keg'. Obviously he preferred champa and wine, but they were serving glasses of Tarisian ale at the door. It packed quite a punch, and intoxicated people were easier to influence. Gwenarius had wanted to serve something more traditionally Mandalorian; but fermented maffa milk and blood was an acquired taste and it would do no good to hand out something that no one would drink.

The atmospherics kept the air on the roof still and quiet under the blanket of stars. It was a rare clear Coruscanti night, and the shimmering core nebula melted into the skyline in a swirl of light. The Mandalorians had set up fire pits, one for each clan, and the clan banners hung above each one: Lin, Ordo, Rialis and Zal. The flames burned merrily, crackling around the roast carcasses of dewbacks imported from Tatooine. In the center of the roof a spiraling staircase led to the ballroom below. This banquet area at the top of the building's spire was shared by all of the embassy tenants, and most of the staff were hired help: Coruscanti natives, dressed in formal black and white uniforms, carrying trays of champa flutes and Mandalorian delicacies on silver trays.

The Bothan reporter for the diplomatic channel of Coruscant HoloNet was setting up his equipment. Three camera drones hovered above his head. His Rodian stylist surveyed the scene with a slight sneer on her snout. The Mandalorians weren't a big story in terms of the press, and both of them looked bored and irritable.

The headwaiter clapped his hands. "Ten minutes to showtime, people. Ghow and Mia, you're on spits."

Revan picked up the tray smoothly, balancing it with one hand as if she'd been doing this all her life. The crystal glasses clinked.

_Clink of glasses and the murmur of conversation . . . _

She did not let her step falter. She made her way down the spiral staircase, trying not to think about another staircase and another party, long ago.

"_So this is the little Jedi you've been telling me about, Malak?" The old man's eyes were hooded and gray like his son's._

_I was fourteen and Malak took me home with him to meet his father . . . _

_Malak held her arm lightly, fingers resting on her pulse in a way that made her heart race. She'd dreamed of being in a place like this with him. _

"_It's an honor to finally meet you, Senator D'Reev," her girl's voice said._

_The old man drew them both into a corner of the room, making it seem the most natural thing in the world. "I'd like to know more about you, Revan Starfire." _

_Malak was only holding her arm with the lightest of fingers, but she could feel his pride in her overwhelming his dislike of his father. Malak hated his father, but the old man seemed harmless to Revan, careworn with the responsibilities of the Galactic Senate weighing heavily upon his shoulders._

_Remember this, Red, it's important._

The tray slipped and the crystal glasses slid dangerously, then righted themselves as if steadied by an invisible arm.

_You're not here . . . _Her step almost faltered on the stairs and one of the Mandalorians wearing full battle armor standing in a line along the wall of the entranceway looked up. His head nodded slightly, and Revan regained her balance.

_Thank you, Canderous . . . without you . . . _

"Ah," said Oerin Lin brightly, from his place in the reception line at the door. "Here's our server now." The Coruscanti party planner they'd hired looked up from her datapad, frowning a little at Revan's appearance.

"She looks cheap," the Donovian said flatly, "really not the right thing for a first impression."

Revan pulled at the hem of her short bell-shaped skirt with her free hand, and wondered again why she hadn't followed her first impulse and made Mission get her another holomask. One with a face less like an adult vid star.

"I think she looks charming. And harmless." Oerin's smile burned like a nova.

Revan bobbed a quick Coruscanti courtesy, automatically keeping her back straight and her head high. "Thank you, Citizen Lin," she murmured.

_Don't do anything stupid, Rev. _Oerin's thoughts in her head were cold. No one had bothered to tell him about their excursions the night that they landed until they came back. He was still sulking about this, and about her refusal of the Ordo proposal.

"No one looks at servants anyway," he continued blithely, brushing the Donovian's arm with his hand. Millifar frowned at that and poked him with her elbow. The two of them were clothed in cloth of gold, stiff and formal adaptations of typical Mandalorian festival wear. They looked, Revan thought, rather like a prince and princess from some exotic land, transported to a Coruscanti dreamscape. The lights above them on the black domed ceiling twinkled constellations from different parts of the Rim, and the plain walls had been transformed with holostills of typical Mandalorian life.

_The typical Mandalorian life that does not involve basilisks, sacking worlds, and clan blood feuds . . . _

On the wall where the kegs waited, a train of dewbacks ambled over a sandy dune. Across from that, an image of Mandalorian women dancing the traditional sand circle, their swords flashing in a pattern that looked more decorative than lethal.

_Looks are deceiving._

Mekel was already standing near the keg, wearing a suit of red battle armor. His face was light brown and his hair sandy blonde. His features twisted under the holomask.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Nineteen," she said back.

"Nineteen?"

"Your nineteenth. Apology. It's . . . it's okay," Revan said dully. "I shouldn't have let you go alone. I should have come with you . . ."

"That would have been worse," the boy said. "I don't think Dustil's told . . . anyone anything."

"And you don't think he knows anything, I know . . ." Revan continued filling the glasses from the tap. _If this plan fails, maybe I can get a job as a cantina waitress. On some world where they've never heard of Revan Starfire. Like maybe, in the Unknown Reaches . . . _"Zaal's going to be fine. Look, it wasn't your fault — at least you all got back here safely."

They'd made it back to the embassy a few hours after dawn, filthy and covered in blood and blaster burns. Mission took down part of the transportation grids to cover their tracks. Dustil had been arrested, Mission said. He'd been their distraction — whether willingly or not, Revan still wasn't sure. Mekel and Zaal had been in bad shape. Neither of them would let her try to heal them with the Force, and Mekel was only standing up now thanks to the amount of stims Canderous had given him. Their kolto reserves were almost exhausted.

_And we haven't even reached the part of the plan where my enemies start sending assassins after me . . . _

"You — you aren't what I expected," Mekel muttered, ducking his head.

"Why are you helping us, Mekel?" Revan asked. She handed him a glass of ale to fabricate a reason why they'd be talking, and stood with her back to the kegs, surveying the room. The Mandalorian drummers were sitting at the far wall, the great brujaril drums between their knees, and the horn players behind them began to tune the rujaks, creating a cacophony of booming notes. Later, there'd be dancing. Three more holocams were set up down here to catch the footage.

"I told you," he said, looking at the floor. "Because of Him."

_Him is Malak. For some reason Mekel is loyal to me because he was loyal to Malak. Malak, whom I killed._

"I killed Malak," Revan said bluntly, wondering why she always felt the need to point out painfully obvious facts to remind people of things that she'd done that it might be better if they'd forget.

_My new speech to the Senate: Yes, I was the Sith Lord Darth Revan who started a civil war, attacked Republic worlds, stole a third of your fleet, destroyed the kolto, and devastated the galaxy; but now I'm a nice person. Please give me my son and let me be a senator. And Carth Onasi, your favorite war hero — I want him too._

"I — I don't think Malak minded," the boy said. He took a cautious sip of the ale, and Revan frowned warningly at him. _Don't get drunk,_ she thought at him, pushing with the Force. His mind was a blank wall made of paper and she couldn't tell if he heard her or not. But she wouldn't break that wall. What it concealed was really none of her business. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what lay behind it. _I don't understand you, Mekel Jin. _Even under the holomask his eyes reminded her of a kissra lamb's going to the slaughterhouse. _Blind innocence . . . _

"Places!" The Donovian moved to the center of the room clapping her hands. Her voice cut through the band's warm-up, thanks to the headset she wore slung over a pointed ear. The Mandalorians milled around, sorting out suddenly into precise, almost military lines. Gwenarius and Aemelie moved over to Oerin's side, followed by the Rialis headwoman, the oldest Clan Mother in attendance. All of them were dressed in simple clan robes, in stark contrast to the opulence of Oerin and Millifar's dress.

_Simple people happy to have their true sovereign returned to them._ In such a setting even the warriors in full battle armor didn't seem that out of place. There were only five of them, the valiant efforts of a once-proud people to show honor to their lost way of life. Or at least, that was supposed to be the impression.

No one was visibly armed.

_It begins,_ Oerin said in her thoughts. He was already speaking charmingly to the first guest, the secretary to Byss's senator. None of the senators would attend themselves of course. Senators were not supposed to be swayed by open displays of currying favor; but several had sent representation. The Fleet and diplomatic invitations had been much easier to choose. There were several ambassadors from worlds that might feel some sympathy towards the Mandalorian cause. As well as some that would come to gloat over their former conquerors' suffering.

_The best intentions and the worst,_ Revan thought. _All we need to do is bring them both to the same cause. Our cause. _She reached for the Force, ducking underneath Oerin's mind like an underlay of cortosis and let the peace and goodwill radiate outwards.

Gwenarius had wanted to show holostills of suffering children on the walls, but Canderous had mercifully convinced her that subtle reminders were better than the obvious.

Mekel's mind brushed against hers tentatively, and she glanced at him.

_Let me help. _He gave her a rueful smile. _I can help with this._

Revan nodded at him and felt his strength join to theirs. Mechanically, she stepped forward and offered their first guests glasses of potent Tarisian ale.

XXX

_Carth Onasi_

"Sorry we're late."

Carth slipped into the door of the luxury cruiser and sat down on the couch beside her. Rew was beautiful, clad in a gown of fabric that looked like silvered black mist, her hair coiled and speckled with jewels.

"It's fine," he murmured, kissing her cheek.

"I wanted to thank you, Captain Onasi." The woman sitting next to Jiya Sand was almost unrecognizable. Two days ago she'd been wearing a faded dress two decades out of fashion, her graying hair lank and loose around her ravaged face. But now, Helena Shan was dressed in a conservative orange gown with a choker of Corellian starflowers, and a fringed black mourning shawl tied around her shoulders. Her hair had been dyed a lustrous brown and cut into simple, yet elegant shag around her cheeks. "I wanted to thank you for sending me the holocron. It means . . ." she dabbed at her eyes with an embroidered swatch of eridu. "It means more than you will ever know . . ."

Jiya smiled at Helena indulgently. "She's like a new woman," he said to Carth, squeezing her hand. "I want to thank you too."

"The holocron," Carth echoed, thinking of Mission and Revan and the Kashyyyk computer.

"Seeing those memories of my husband! Talking to him again . . . it was as if . . . as if he was really there with me. It gave us a chance to say things, things we should have said long ago . . . before _she_ came between us."

_She. She means her daughter. Bastila. _Helena Shan looked better, but those lines of bitterness were still there, etched around her mouth as deep as scars.

"The holocron of your husband," Carth echoed again. His mind skipped like a scratched disc.

_Tatooine. In the Krayt dragon's cave. _

"_Well, Bastila?" Polla shot the dark-haired Jedi a look and tossed something that glittered in the air to her. The shorter girl's hand reached out and caught it, almost automatically. Her fingers tightened in a fist and she slid it into her pocket._

"_Don't say it," she said crisply, turning her back on all of them. "I'm not giving it to her. She doesn't deserve it. She doesn't deserve his memories."_

"_She's your _mother_," Polla argued. "Doesn't matter if she drives you nuts or not. You still owe it to her . . ." her voice trailed off suddenly and she rubbed her temples. "It's here —" she said, moving deeper into the cave. "It's — different than the ones on Dantooine and Kashyyyk, almost dead but I — can you hear it, Bastila? It's singing to me . . ."_

"_I hear it," the Jedi murmured, face twisting in distaste._

"_Are you okay?" Carth asked. Bastila shot him a wide-eyed glance; as if she'd forgotten he was there at all._

"_I'm fine," Bastila replied, swallowing hard. She straightened her shoulders and followed Polla into the shadows. The smuggler's delighted whoop of glee echoed through the cavern and ahead of them a now-familiar globe of blue light sprung into view, bisected by new coordinates._

"_Observation, Master: While dancing and combat training are close cousins in several cultures, you may want to stop jumping up and down and screaming before the hostiles get closer. Such actions make you a very visible target for ranged attacks."_

"_Hostiles?" Polla stopped trying to make Bastila and Mission dance with her and moved closer to Carth, her hand going to the saber at her belt in one smooth motion._

"_Dark Jedi," Bastila whispered. "I — I should have sensed them before but I was too — too unfocused. I shouldn't have let my emotions blind us like this — I should have realized . . ."_

"_Shh," Carth whispered, drawing his blasters and trying to get in front of Polla. She moved to block him stubbornly, the silk of her topknot brushing his chin._

"_They feel like I should . . . know . . . they feel familiar — how?" Polla sounded scared._

"_Our bond," the Jedi said flatly. "I know one of them that approaches. He — trained with me, he — "_

_HK began to lob grenades at the cave's entrance. The explosions lit up the advancing figures — five of them — but seemed to have no effect. Carth started firing and the hiss of red blades began deflecting the bolts. _

_The two women moved in, smoothly twirling their double blades. Behind them, Mission activated her stealth belt, slipping into the shadows. _

"_Bastila Shan." The man's voice was amused. He was smooth-shaven, with a narrow dark beard, and his metal breastplate glinted red in the light of his saber's blade. "Lord Malak will be pleased when I bring you to him."_

"_You cannot win, Bandon," Bastila hissed, charging him head on._

_Polla faltered, and Carth moved in to cover her._

"_What I don't understand," the Dark Jedi said, countering Bastila's attack, and pushing an advance, "is how you found the Star Map in the first place . . ."_

"_Who are you?" Polla's voice rang out through the cavern. She sounded confused, not frightened or angry. Her lightsaber dangled loose in her hands and she looked at it as if she had never seen it before._

_At the sound of her voice, Bandon froze._

_Then he began to laugh. His laughter was terrible, but short-lived. Bastila cut him down in a heartbeat then advanced on the others. Carth started firing too. In the subsequent chain of events on Tatooine, the one he remembered most vividly had nothing to do with the Shan holocron._

"_I always loved you, flyboy," Polla said softly, tangled in his arms._

"We found it on Tatooine," Carth said out loud. Rew patted his hand. He realized his mouth was hanging open and he closed it, struggling for composure. _We found it on Tatooine but I didn't have it . . . I don't know what happened to it, but I didn't have it. I didn't send it to her . . . who could have sent it to her?_

_Revan? I know she's here, she has to be here, but why would she . . . _

"It came in the post this morning," Helena murmured. "To tell you the truth I wasn't sure I felt up to this, but Jiya was being so persistent — and — what you did, Captain Onasi, saving this for me . . . it was so kind . . ."

"Carth's a good man," Rew Ekkumi said lightly, beaming at him.

"I hope the Mandalorians serve some kind of food that's edible," Jiya said. "I'm starving."

XXX

_Revan_

_Mandalorians are harmless, you love Mandalorians. See how charming Oerin Lin is? Look at their quaint pretty customs._

Two of the Zals were enacting a traditional woman's sword circle in the center of the room. The bells on their ankles jangled a tune that was almost lost over the din of chatter, and their golden festival swords flashed in the twinkling lights cast from the overheads.

"In my day," the Headwoman of Rialis muttered to Revan, accepting another glass of Tarisian ale, "women's dances were never seen by barbarians. But I wouldn't expect _you_ to understand, outlander Fett." Her wrinkled face scowled.

_At least she's calling me Fett. Then again, she's calling a blonde woman dressed as a servant Fett in front of a bunch of Coruscanti dignitaries. _Thankfully, the party swirled around them, and her remarks went unnoticed.

"Excuse me," a tall Eosian man smiled at Revan. "Could I have another glass of ale?"

"Of course, citizen," Revan said, batting her eyes. "It's almost as good as echinian brandy, isn't it?" She pushed with the Force. _"Mandalorians and the Eosians are such close neighbors, don't you think it's time, after centuries of bloodshed to find peace between your two peoples?"_

His face went blank for a moment and then he smiled, his eyes a little glazed. "After so many years of war, we should have peace," he echoed, brow ridges wrinkling with the novelty of the thought.

Revan beamed at him. _Another one down. _

_Blue says he's a minor secretary to the Eosian Ambassador, no major influence. _

She glanced back at Mekel, shrugging.

_Well it's something . . . _

"Revan, after the barbarians leave, I need to discuss Ordo's suit with you. I don't think you realize how precarious Clan Lin's position is . . . Headwoman Octiva Lin obviously did a poor job instructing you in our ways . . ."

Her smile slipped for a moment. Behind her, Mekel Jin coughed.

The Eosian looked confused. "Did that old woman just call you Revan?"

"I'm not sure," Revan said, trying to open her eyes as wide as possible. "I don't speak Mandalorian — did she? She seems senile . . ."

"She calls everyone Revan," Mekel broke in, chuckling a little too loudly. He came forward, moving awkwardly in the armor. _One look at him and you can tell he's not used to it. We should have put him in robes. _But none of the barbar — guests — seemed to notice. "Come on, Mother Rialis, Mother Ordo was wondering if you'd check on the babes . . ."

_I'll be right back,_ he thought at her.

Canderous moved into his spot, smoothly and silently. The Eosian glanced at him, suddenly nervous again.

"_I think it's just charming,"_ Revan drawled, _"the way they've dressed up in their old battle armor, don't you?"_

"Charming," the Eosian echoed, blankly. He blinked. "So . . . you're name's not Revan," he laughed. "What are you doing after the party?"

"It is considered extremely poor taste in Mandalorian culture to try and take advantage of another clan's slaves," Canderous rumbled in Eosian.

_Not helping, that, Canderous. Just shut up and stand there._

Revan tried to look dim-witted. The Force sang around them, and the people at the party were like little spots of light, some glowing more brightly than others, but she could feel Lin focusing them into a dance, a pattern of peace and harmony and balance and love. He tapped into her power and it seemed like the room was bathed in a clean blue light.

She looked over at Oerin, and to her Force-enhanced senses it was like he was . . . glowing . . . brighter than a sun. She felt a shiver of fear. _How in the hell does he do that?_

_Like I'd tell you, Rev. _His thought was amused and lazy. He seemed terribly pleased with himself, in his element in the same way he'd been in the Sith Embassy on Manaan, the same way he'd been in the Mandalorian battle circle. There were lizards on Widek, she remembered dimly from some long-forgotten lesson, which changed their skin to match their environment, grew gills to swim in water, and wings to fly in the air. Lin was like that: no matter where you threw him, he was at home.

The heir to Mandalore was greeting a party of four now, with Millifar at his side. The men were still partially blocked by the doorway, but the shorter woman, dressed in a confection of silver and black that hugged her graceful curves like a glove, turned and said something to the other one. The second woman was older, and wore a Coruscanti mourning shawl over her orange dress. Her brown hair hid most of her face and she smiled, pushing the hair back. It was a brittle smile that didn't reach her violet eyes and she headed straight for Revan, and the tray of crystal glasses that clinked with the murmur of soft conversation and — and Oerin stiffened suddenly, almost imperceptibly — but she saw it out of the corner of her vision even as her eyes registered the woman's familiar face.

So like her daughter's face, if Bastila had lived to be old. But this woman wasn't even that old. She looked better than she had on Tatooine; but her hands trembled a little, just as they had on Tatooine, and she reached for a glass.

"I've always been fond of Tarisian ale," Helena Shan said to Revan, granting her a plastic smile with a bright red mouth.

The glasses rattled because her arm was shaking.

_Someone was asking her a question. _

"_Can I ask you some questions, Padawan Revan Starfire? My son and I play games, you see. I ask him questions and he gives me answers. The Jedi play similar games. Would you mind if I asked you a question?"_

_Rev, don't lose it. Revan — don't . . . _

The blue light darkened a little, and Revan struggled for composure.

_It's just Helena Shan. It's just Helena Shan. She looks . . . better than I expected. She has no idea who I am, just don't open my mouth and say anything, just stand here and be pretty and vacant and be a servant, hired help, pour more ale, set the tray down, turn around slowly — _

_No. It's not just that. _Oerin turned around and glanced past her at Canderous. His hand moved in an old signal that she half-recognized. It meant something like, rally to the General now, she thought — and that was her last rational thought because when Oerin turned she saw the man behind him.

The man behind him was Carth. Carth dressed in something that glittered and looked like it might have once been a Republic uniform before some Sullistan seamstress covered it with a million tiny sequins. Carth was holding the arm of the beautiful woman in black and silver. The other man with him was gray and balding and wore a similar costume, only with General's bars.

_That's Corporal Jiya Sand, Serroco, Groundside command. Capable, but inefficient, _chanted a part of her memory that only seemed to exist to taunt her with useless information.

"W-we didn't invite him," she said out loud, backing away. _We didn't invite him! Why is he here? Oh frack oh hell, Carth!_

She felt the Force splinter as her emotions twisted like a vortex.

His grief and hate was black and rotting like a shroud. If she reached farther she knew she'd find her name at the center of it.

"C-Carth . . ." Her traitorous voice seemed to exist on another plane, one that she had no control of. Her hand fell back against the small table she'd set the tray on and it tilted. Crystal shattered on the floor. Heads turned. Carth's eyes, everyone's eyes.

"Drunk," Canderous mumbled. She watched Carth's eyes narrow slightly at the sound of that voice, and then he shook his head, as if he'd imagined it. Oerin Lin appeared to be telling the woman and Jiya Sand a funny joke and the woman took his arm and leaned against him, with the familiarity of an old friend. Her accent was Telosian.

_An old friend or a lover._

_You are not going to spoil my party, Revan. _Oerin's thoughts were like a whiplash. _So, he's here, get over it._

Helena Shan's hazy eyes watched the exchange. "He is handsome, isn't he?" she confided to Revan. She spoke with the tones of someone used to confiding in everyone. Bartenders, servomech droids, lamp posts, shopkeepers and servants.

"Mmm," Revan said, nodding.

"He was in love with my daughter, you know," the woman continued, in a breathless whisper.

_He was not! And your daughter was only in love with herself and _my_ husband! _The thought was so strange and venomous Revan wasn't even sure it was her own. _That's not true, that's not — Bastila was . . . oh gods, Bastila — I'm so sorry, that's not fair, that's not true it was my fault, all of it my fault - _

Glass crunched under her feet, and she realized that several of the guests were staring at her, as if there was some reaction they'd expect from a waitress besides standing there with her fists clenched at her side gaping at the Republic's favorite war hero.

_You're not the only one, Rev. Nine hells, half the room's in love with him. I don't understand the appeal . . . he looks terrible. _Oerin laughed out loud and the cluster of guests around him laughed too. Carth's laughter sounded forced, and he glanced in her direction again, a faint frown on his mouth.

_Stay out of his mind. I don't care how you twist the others, but stay out of his mind, Oerin._

_His mind's a mess. I'd do you a favor cleaning it up._

_An order. _Revan sent the thought at him so hard that the Lin flinched.

_As you wish, Lord Revan._

_Go to hell!_

Oerin laughed again.

Mekel was coming back through the door now, pushing through the guests. He looked at her, edging cautiously around Carth and his date

_Are you ok? Blue says she had no idea, the woman's Rew Ekkumi, Captain Ekkumi, she's one of the Mandalorian advocates . . . Telosian, well-respected in the Fleet. _

_I don't care who she is! _Carth was whispering something in the woman's ear and the woman smiled at him, a familiar smile. _A lover's smile._ The strange tension in the room seemed to ease, and she saw the beads of sweat on Mekel's face, shimmering underneath the holomask as he tried to replace her strength in the Force. She fought for control again, for composure.

_Breathe, Revan. It's all going to be fine._

Canderous nudged her arm. "The glass. Clean it up," he muttered in the Tarisian street dialect they'd used before. Odds were high that no one outside of the Taris undercity spoke it, and most of those people were now dead. She turned around and looked at him blankly. "Servants do that," he said. "Clean up the glass. And focus. We'll . . . we'll get him back for you. I swear it."

Helena Shan was drinking another glass of ale. The Donovian party planner had summoned another liveried waitress to serve the guests and was making sweeping motions at Revan, frowning angrily.

Revan knelt, trying to keep her dignity in the too-short skirt, and began sweeping the pieces of glass onto the silver tray. She took a deep breath.

_This is all going to be fine, I'm fine. Mandalorians are happy peaceful people and you all want to vote in their sovereignty. You love Mandalorians, look at their graceful dances. Look at the shining faces of their adorable children. _

Revan balanced the tray on one hand, and rose to her feet.

_Take the broken glass to the kitchen, throw it away. Get more glasses. Don't think. Don't think and don't look._

One of her hands was bleeding and she wiped it carelessly on the black skirt.

She was halfway across the room when he caught her arm.

XXX

_Carth Onasi_

The blonde man — barely more than a kid — was telling them a long rambling story about traditional Mandalorian dances. Helena Shan was on her third cup of ale, and the waitress who'd dropped the tray when she saw him was kneeling on the floor sweeping the pieces of broken glass onto the tray with her bare hand.

_She's going to cut herself like that. Doesn't she have any sense? _Carth frowned. There was something — off about this whole thing. Something that didn't seem right. For a second there, he'd thought — no. It was impossible.

"What clans are represented here?" he whispered in Ekkumi's ear.

She flashed him one of her trademark million-watt smiles. "All of them except Wies," she said. "The remains of Wies went out beyond Unknown Space. They're already calling them the lost clan . . ."

_And I suppose we had our share to do with that,_ Carth thought sadly.

"Ordo?" he asked her. It was impossible . . . and yet . . .

Ekkumi shrugged. "I suppose . . ."

The blond boy — the Mandalore himself or whatever he was, caught his arm. "It's an honor to meet you, Captain Onasi," he grinned.

Carth shook him away absently, looking past him. There was something . . .

"You might as well try to stop the sea, Oerin," the girl dressed in gold muttered in Mandalorian. "Some fates you can't meddle in, Fett witch or not. I'm pleased to meet you too, Republic death bringer," she said, still in Mandalorian. "You look much better than you did last night, although I still think she — "

The boy coughed. "He speaks Mandalorian, Milli."

"Really?" The girl flushed. "Oh. Well that should make things easier when he comes to his senses."

Carth looked past her. There was something -

The waitress got up, balancing the tray in one smooth gesture above her head and rose fluidly to her feet. She moved like a trained dancer — a movement completely in contrast with her vacuous blonde face. Her absurd lips were painted pink, and her eyes were wide and round, with a look of perpetual surprise. Her walk was at odds with the face and costume too, long-strided and determined. She glanced at him — right at him - and coolly walked past, plowing a line between the guests with surgical precision. The crowd parted before her like wheat under a scythe. Almost absent-mindedly, she wiped her bleeding hand on the short skirt that she was wearing. The skirt showed off her legs to all advantages.

_It's impossible. No. It can't be._

_She'd won the duel. Polla Organa, the smuggler from Deralia, known briefly as the 'Mysterious Stranger', had killed Bendak Starkiller. Hordes of screaming fans surrounded her as she came off the dueling ring floor. Her arm was badly slashed and bleeding but she didn't seem to notice the pain. Her eyes were fever-bright and she came towards him, parting the crowd easily just by walking as if she expected them all to move out of her way. To a sentient, they all did._

"_You're bleeding," Carth said. It wasn't what he meant to say at all. He meant to say, 'how could you do anything this stupid?' But the light in her eyes and the smile on her face made that thought inconsequential. Nothing else seemed to exist in the room except the two of them._

_There was a freckle on her ankle. A constellation of freckles really, most faint like far-away stars, but one was larger and shaped like the map of some place he'd never been. _

The waitress had a brown splotch in the same place. She was too far away now for him to see if it was the same.

It only took ten steps and he was across the room, holding her arm. He twisted it around, to see the underside. A thin white line ran along the wrist and disappeared into the sleeve of her white blouse.

Carth found his voice, somehow. Thin and strained. "All those battles and only one scar."

"I - I think I had more, once." The same voice that haunted him in his dreams. Soft, barely a whisper. His hand tightened on her arm. "S-sometimes I remember . . . having more."

"I thought you'd come for me," Carth said.

"I — I did but I couldn't — it wasn't safe . . ." She still held the tray full of broken glass above her head.

She hadn't stopped walking. Carth didn't let go of her arm. She didn't look back. He walked alongside her, ignoring the curious glances and whispers of the party guests. With a soldier's awareness he heard the tramp of armored feet behind them.

"Send them away, Revan," he breathed in her ear. The lump of permacrete was in his pocket. It was always in his pocket, even when he slept. They hadn't screened for weapons or explosives at the door.

_Typical Mandalorian arrogance._

She said nothing out loud, she didn't miss a step, but he heard the blonde man's voice behind them calling out something in Mandalorian too fast for him to catch and the tramp of armored feet stopped.

She pushed open a swinging door with one deft movement of her hip. Her grace made his heart ache. The false yellow hair fell over her false blue eyes. The lashes were impossibly long and black. He followed her inside. They were in a commercial kitchen. A few other black and white-liveried waitresses were stacking things on trays. Her pink bow of a mouth shook and her chin trembled.

He didn't want to look at it.

"Holomask? Or surgery?"

"Holomask," she said quietly.

"Take it off."

He heard her indrawn breath as if he'd hurt her.

"It's not safe." She pulled away from him and put the tray down, unsteadily, on the counter. She turned back to him. He stared at her arms, they were smooth and pale and unmarked, save for the scar. They'd been marked with dark lines before. He wondered if this was an illusion too.

"Take it off, Revan."

One of the waitresses dropped something. He heard it shatter.

"Is that Carth Onasi?"

"Did he say _Revan_?"

She looked past him at their audience. _"Get out," _she said. _"Nothing happened here, get out. Go upstairs." _The Force compulsion rushed over him like a wave.

This was no good; they were too close to the civilians outside.

"What's upstairs?"

"The roof," she answered.

"Is it empty?"

She took a deep shuddering breath and backed into the wall. Her hands were shaking. He covered them with his own, pinning her against the wall. Their faces were so close now, and her false face stared back at his, shocked and round and vacant. There were tears in her blue eyes, only a faint tell-tale shimmer around them as evidence that they weren't real.

"No," she whispered. "More servants . . . and some of the guests . . . and the children . . ."

He couldn't stand looking at her face. It wasn't her face, and it should be her face.

"Take the mask off, _Revan_."

"Let go of my hands."

"You're a Lord of the Sith, since when do you need your hands?" his voice was hard and she winced, that fake expression on that vapid pink face.

Her blue eyes closed and she shivered. A field flickered across her features and her eyes were green, her hair a smooth red cap that fell across her brow. It had grown since he'd seen her last. Her chin was pointed and her cheekbones were wide and her nose was slightly broader at the base than the brow. It was her face again. Polla's face.

Standing so close he could see faint lines of silver, almost like scars, that rayed out from her eyes like the shadow of some terrible sun. They made her face inhuman. But in some strange way, they made her even more beautiful.

"Is this another mask?" Carth asked her. "You look different than the last time I saw you."

"So do you," she whispered. Her eyes pleaded with him. Pleading lying eyes. Keeping her pinned against the wall, he looked around the room. There was another door at the far side. One of the waitresses was still there, cowering in the corner. He ignored her. _Not important. _"Y-you look awful. What he's done to you it -"

"Where does that go?" Carth demanded, jerking his head in the direction of the door.

"Fire stairs," Revan answered. _Of course she'd know. They'll have this place mapped and plotted like a battleground. This is a battle. This is some part of her plan. This is something I must stop._

"Move."

Somewhere in the background, he heard someone gasp, and the sound of running feet. _That waitress, _he thought to himself. It didn't really matter. He watched her eyes track the movement behind them, and her face tightened with some kind of resolve.

Carth dropped her hands. It would be now, he thought. Now she'd turn on him and strike him down and it would be over. No need to make the decision. Let her make it. _Let this be over._

Instead she walked to the door and stared at it. There was the click of a lock and it slid open.

"Shame you didn't know you could do that on Taris," he said.

Her head tilted back at him in a ghost of a sad smile. "Would have made the petty theft easier, I suppose."

He followed her into the echoing stairwell. One flight up and countless flights down.

XXX

_Helena Shan_

Carth Onasi wandered off after the yellow-haired schutta. Rew Ekkumi looked rather upset.

"Men are dogs," Helena told her, trying to be kind. The room sparkled lazily, and she felt at peace. It was nice to be at a party again, it had been several months since she'd been invited to any social events. In the beginning, after Bastila's death there had been so many invitations; but they'd dried up of late, as the Coruscanti society that had embraced her so readily at first, withdrew.

At least Jiya was still loyal.

She gave him a fond glance, and he patted her arm, absently, looking off in the direction of the doors where Carth had vanished.

The golden-haired Mandalorian man came over to them and beamed at her. He was barely more than a child, but extremely attractive, she thought. The girl at his side would have been lovely too, were it not for her overlarge chin. She was biting her lip and looking nervous. _Poor dear, she's probably not used to society._

"Helena Shan," the golden-haired boy smiled. Such a kind smile, she could practically feel his goodwill.

At his side, the girl said something in Mandalorian. She sounded concerned. The boy shook her off and took Helena's arm in one hand and Rew's in the other.

"It's marvelous to meet you all," he said, smiling even wider.

"Wonderful to meet you too," Helena replied, politely. "What should we call you? Is there an appropriate term of address . . . or . . . ?"

"Call me Oerin," he said. "The correct term would be Fett Lin, but we're friends. You can call me Oerin." He gave her an intimate smile. They were friends, she realized. He understood her, and she felt comforted by that. Mandalorians were kind and good people. It was a pity there'd been a war and such tragic misunderstandings before.

One of the Mandalorians in battle armor came over to them. He was little more than a child too, fair hair capping a dark face. He was the only one in armor not wearing a helm.

"Oerin . . ." he whispered, glancing at them nervously. There was sweat on his brow and it seemed to make his skin almost shimmer, strangely. "It's going to hell . . . fast."

Oerin backhanded him lightly, and the boy staggered, almost falling over.

"Insolence will not be tolerated, _boy."_

"_Do something!" _the boy hissed back, stumbling.

"I am," Oerin replied coolly. "Just help or get out. But stop talking if you can't be more discreet."

The boy just looked at them all.

"Oh, shit, Blue," he said, inexplicably.

XXX

_Carth Onasi_

The stairwell was empty and the walls were double thick. Sealed against fires and shielded from explosives. _Something that can work both ways,_ he thought emptily.

Carth reached in his pocket and turned the switch. There was an audible click that sounded loud as a blaster bolt.

Revan's eyes followed his movement and then returned to his face. Hers was still, almost expressionless.

"How long?" she asked.

"Sixty seconds."

She nodded and bit her lip. "I can't read your thoughts, Carth. And I don't . . . I don't want to make you do anything. But I can't let this happen." She stared at her hands. "I — I need to live for — someone else."

"The galaxy might be better off if you didn't." Carth hated his voice for saying the words, hated himself for wasting this last minute. He wanted to take her in his arms and then have it all be over.

_That's what you should have done on the Star Forge,_ his inner voice mocked. _But you were a coward who thought you were a hero._

Revan held out her hand and tilted it. The slight vibration of the permacrete's timer stopped.

"Fused the core," she said, her voice empty. "Detonator's useless now. But you could probably throw it at me if that would make you feel better."

"Why don't you . . ." Carth's voice trailed off.

"How is my son?" The question caught him off guard. _She knows, how does she know?_

"He's — he's fine. He's . . ."

Her green eyes were filling with tears. The eyelashes were red. When her hair had been black he'd wondered at that.

"I don't expect you'll believe me," she said, frowning. "But D'Reev's done something to you. Something happened to you on the _Pearl._ Malachi D'Reev wants to destroy me, Carth. He's using you. But I'm going to win, and I'm taking Malachor back." Her eyes dropped. "And you. If you'll . . . if you'll have me."

"Revan." His voice was rough and she flinched again.

He could hear voices arguing about something from behind the door they'd just passed through, but the duracrete was double-thick and he couldn't understand what they were saying.

"If you betray me to D'Reev now, it will be an inconvenience, but in the end it will change nothing." Revan's voice was cold. "If you stand by me, it will help me but probably . . . ruin your career in the Fleet. If you — if you care about that now . . ." She took a deep breath. "If you go to D'Reev and confront him, he might try and hurt you, or Dustil. I can make him pay, but I can't stop it . . ."

"Korrie told me that I loved you and I didn't really understand but I — " Carth stopped speaking. Revan's face was completely blank.

"Korrie?"

"Your son."

Her mouth twitched. "Korrie? I — in my head I call him Mal, in my dreams I call him Mal . . ."

_The same name as your dead husband, Darth Malak. _Carth thought he'd gotten over that old pain but it flared up again, like a wound.

The voices on the other side of the door grew louder. Revan took his hand. "Come on," she said, moving up the stair, dragging him up the stairs.

He glanced back down. She followed his gaze. "Your date, Captain Rew Ekkumi, Corporal Jiya Sand, the heir to Mandalore, Canderous, and his wife Gwen are having a small disagreement about whether or not to send a search party after the hero of the Republic who seems to have disappeared along with their clumsy waitress . . . " She frowned and took a deep breath. "And . . . there's trouble. That waitress — she saw — and the others - they're not sure what they saw. They're talking. The guests . . . soon everyone will — will know . . . Let's go to the roof . . . I — I need some air."

"_General_ Jiya Sand," Carth corrected her. It was surreal. Almost a normal conversation. "Canderous has a wife?"

"Two, actually. And three children that are here . . . I — I think he had more children, once but . . . Mandalorians are . . . different from us, Carth. They — " she smiled painfully. "I'm not ready for you to meet Canderous' wives."

This all felt like a dream. She wasn't the woman he remembered. This strange complicity, this automatic assumption she had that he would go along with her plans — all of this was wrong. "The holocron," Carth said. "Was that a trick?"

Revan frowned. "Which holocron?"

"Helena thanked me for mailing it to her — but I — I didn't have it . . . you . . ."

"Yeah," she said, her voice soft. "I mailed it to her. It was the right thing to do."

"She's a horrible woman."

Revan just looked at him. She tapped a silver button pinned to her blouse, and her true face disappeared, hidden under that vapid bimbo look again. "I agree," she said, her voice tight. "But Bastila thought the same thing about me. And I . . . I thought the same thing about Bastila, quite a bit of the time. Helena-" Revan closed her eyes. "It doesn't matter what she is. You — you don't stop helping someone because they're not good, you can't measure the worth of someone else's life against your own . . . and . . . you — you shouldn't try."

"How can you say that, after what you've done?"

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know half of what I've done. I don't know half of what I'm doing, Carth . . . I just — oh Force, Carth . . . "

"Polla," he whispered.

In the next heartbeat she was in his arms. He wasn't sure which of them had moved first, but it didn't matter. They were kissing, her lips were real and solid under the holomask and her mouth was warm and demanding. She was crying, and the tears were salty.

He fumbled with the silver button on her blouse. "You shouldn't hide," Carth told her. Her face was beautiful; he wanted to see it again.

"Don't — "

Carth pulled at the button and it came off in his hand. Her lips were her lips again, and her green eyes were full of tears.

In his arms she shivered. He dropped the silver button down the stairwell and kissed her again.

The clang of the door downstairs was only another noise.

"If you don't stop pointing that gun at me, Mandalorian, there will be an interplanetary incident."

"Don't take another step Captain." The familiar voice was cool. "Trust me; you don't want to go up there."

"Carth Onasi is my escort and I demand to know what you've done to him!"

_Rew . . . _

"Uh, Rew, he's probably just wandered off — he — he's unstable, you know that."

"Jiya, cover me, I'm going up."

Revan stiffened in his arms. "Who is she?" she whispered, staring up at his face.

"The roof," Carth looked away, not answering her. "Come on." He took her hand and she let him lead her to the door at the top of the stairs. It opened onto a corner of a vast roof garden.

XXX

_Helena Shan_

There was a scream from the direction of the doors that Captain Onasi had gone through, and a waitress burst out of them. A different waitress than the one Carth had followed: this one had dark hair and skin, now pasty with fear.

"Revan!" she cried out, over the din of the vulgar music. "_Revan Starfire_ is in the kitchen! _Revan! The Dark Lord of the Sith!_"

The golden-haired man's smile did not falter.

"Revan?" Jiya said incredulously.

"Revan?" Helena echoed. She was dizzy and her stomach lurched. _Revan was here?_

Captain Ekkumi pulled away from Oerin and started walking towards the doors, only to be blocked by a hulking figure in battle armor; face concealed under one of their barbaric helms.

"You don't want to go in there," the Mandalorian said. One of their women, hair coiled in braids, came over to them, her face knit in a thoughtful frown.

Oerin sighed and regarded them all slowly. "I'm sure this is a misunderstanding," he said lightly.

_A misunderstanding. Of course. That makes sense. _Helena felt the fear dissipate.

The waitstaff had stopped serving and were all clustered in a corner whispering, along with several of the guests.

"I demand to know what you've done with Carth Onasi," Rew Ekkumi said coldly. Her voice cut across the room and the music stopped.

She pushed past the figure in battle armor, and went through the double doors.

The golden-haired man sighed again and called out something in Mandalorian.

"He said, salvage it?" Jiya whispered in her ear, frowning. "Salvage what?" Oerin glanced back at them sharply.

"Perhaps we should continue this discussion in the kitchens?" he suggested. The smile on his face seemed angry for a moment and Helena felt a twinge of fear again. Then the fear vanished as quickly as it had come under the melting benevolence of his gaze.

They all followed him into a large commercial kitchen. Carth wasn't there. Rew was already pushing at a door at the end of the room. "Locked," she said. "Open it. I warn you - you can't just kidnap a Republic citizen . . ."

The Mandalorian in battle armor snorted. "We leave those jobs to the Republic," he said. "You're a . . . friend of Carth's?"

"Yes," the Captain snapped. "And I demand to know what you've done with him!"

Rew Ekkumi pushed at the door again, fishing in her pocket for something. She pulled out a security spike and fitted it against the lock. The security spike beeped and the door swung open with a clang.

"Don't move," the Mandalorian said. He had a small blaster in his hands. Helena wondered where he'd gotten it. Her thoughts seemed oddly slow and strange.

"If you don't stop pointing that gun at me, Mandalorian, there will be an interplanetary incident."

"Don't take another step Captain. Trust me; you don't want to go up there."

"Uh, Rew, he's probably just wandered off — he — he's unstable, you know that." Jiya rubbed his temples, frowning.

"Jiya, cover me, I'm going up."

The heir to Mandalore sighed. "Well, Ordo, if there is any truth to these accusations, as your Fett I will be bound to deliver . . . the appropriate justice." His hand tapped his cheek thoughtfully.

The woman in braids raised her eyebrows. "Indeed." Her mouth curved in a slow smile. "Canderous?"

The man in battle armor mumbled something in their own language.

"_Canderous?" _Rew said, looking at him with astonishment.

"Canderous," he growled. "Canderous Ordo. Trust me, Carth is fine."

Helena found her voice. "You're Canderous Ordo?"

"I am," the warrior said quietly.

"You knew . . . my daughter."

The helm nodded at her. "She was a good warrior," he said, hesitating. "She . . ."

"I have to place you under arrest, General Ordo," Jiya interrupted. "Fleet HQ will want to speak to you, regarding the events of the Star Forge."

Canderous shrugged. "You can't."

"He's under _my_ command," Oerin said. "Whatever clan Ordo has done, they will answer to Lin first."

The woman in braids chuckled. "So be it," she said.

"I'm pleased you understand, Gwen," Oerin replied. His hand touched his cheek again, tapping it as if for emphasis.

"I understand perfectly," the woman replied. "See to our guests, Oerin. Canderous and I will check on things . . . upstairs?"

"We're coming with you," Rew broke in angrily.

The woman laughed. "Of course you are." She took the Mandalorian warrior's arm and walked through the kitchens back towards the reception room. Jiya and Rew followed them. Helena started to move, but the golden-haired man caught her arm.

"Wait with me here a moment, Helena," he said softly in her ear. "They're not ready for us yet."

She looked up at him, confused. His face was so kind, so gentle.

"I need a drink," Helena said.

XXX

_Carth Onasi_

The air smelled like smoke and roasting meat. There were immense bonfires with carcasses of huge beasts on spits above them. Less people up here: small clusters of partygoers and a few packs of small children running underfoot. An arched railway in the center led to the stairs down below in the central ballroom. Music was piped in from unseen speakers. High above their heads the shimmer of a containment field turned the sky into a blurry swirl of light and color.

"Come over here, Polla," Carth muttered, dragging her across the roof to an unoccupied corner behind one of the bonfires. They stood against the edge of a gilded rail that surrounded the roof garden's edge.

Revan's expression was distant, but she didn't protest when he took her in his arms. "They're talking now, downstairs. It's — too much for us to . . . to stop. Too many of them. Not much time, I only needed another day, Carth. Oh hell, Carth — what I have to do to fix this — "

He silenced her with a kiss. And then another. And there weren't any coherent thoughts, not even the hate he'd expected. There was only her, as it seemed like it had always been. Only her and only him. Nothing else mattered.

_But it will matter. It will matter._

Far away a woman's voice was calling his name.

"Whatever comes, we'll face it together, do you understand?" He murmured the words against her mouth.

She stiffened in his arms, like a spring coiled to strike. "I hope you will," she said. "Please Carth, I hope you'll understand."

Her words almost sounded like an apology.

_How can you even try to apologize, Revan? After all that you've done? _It didn't matter. He kissed her again.

XXX

_Helena Shan_

Helena started to follow Jiya and the others, but the golden-haired man - Oerin - caught her arm.

"Helena," he said, almost gently, "I think you should wait with me here for a moment."

"That - _man_ was with my Bastila on the Star Forge," she said, trying to pull away. "And if Revan is here too . . . don't you understand what that means?"

Oerin laughed. "That my party is ruined?"

He looked into her eyes, frankly, searchingly. He was shamefully young, but she felt her cheeks blush all the same. The way that he looked at her, it was as if he could see all of her secrets, all of her fears and even the old dreams she'd had once, long ago.

He walked with her out of the stairwell, through the kitchens, and back into the main room.

Around them, people were whispering. Some were leaving rather hurriedly, but still more were pushing up the spiral staircase, to see whatever was happening on the roof.

"I need a drink," Helena admitted. She did need a drink, but she felt . . . strangely calm, somehow. Considering the circumstances she wasn't sure how that could be, but she didn't question it. You take moments of serenity where you can among chaos. She'd learned that lesson long ago, trailing after Abasen and his crazy treasure-hunting schemes.

Oerin tilted his head, those blue eyes of his seeming to pierce all the way into her very soul. "Why?" he asked.

His face was so smooth and innocent, guileless. It was the face of a young prince at the beginning of his life with no idea what the worlds would hold in store for him.

"Why?" she echoed.

"Why do you need a drink?"

"You- wouldn't understand," she pulled away and headed to the bar. The waitstaff had all vanished, they were almost the only people left in the reception room at this point. Even the holocams were gone. There was an abandoned tray full of champa flutes discarded on the bar's edge. She picked up one and drained it quickly.

"I have a soft spot for mothers." Helena whirled around. The boy had followed her, was standing right next to her. He'd moved so silently, she'd had no idea. "Don't drink anymore, Helena Shan. Can you do that for me?" His eyes met hers levelly. They were calm and serene.

The champa tasted bitter in her mouth. She put the glass down quickly. "It's gone off," she said. "Cheap wine, not that I'd expect better from a pack of-" she broke off remembering who she was talking to.

Oerin only laughed. "Forgive my people; I didn't give them much time to plan this." He took her hand. His voice was earnest. "You _do_ forgive them, don't you, Helena Shan? Forgive _all of them?_"

"That man, Canderous. He was with Revan. If he's here, she can't be far behind. And Captain Onasi too, the lot of them, all of them- they killed her - they didn't save her. Because of them my Bastie's dead."

Oerin sighed. "But you didn't like your daughter, Helena, so why do you care?" His hand brushed her cheek, gently. "You spend so much energy hating yourself. Can't you find something else to do?"

"I'm dying," she confessed. Helena felt like she should be angry, but it was hard to be angry at this golden-haired man.

"Would you like to die faster?" His voice was even, almost thoughtful, as if that was a serious question.

"Of course not!" she shot back.

"Then live," Oerin shrugged and looked towards the stairs. He held out his arm to her and she took it automatically.

On Talravin, in her girlhood there had been parties and handsome escorts and dancing. Taking his arm made her feel young again, as if all of her life stretched before her like a glorious starburst once more. "It's time," he added. "Time for us to play our part." His mouth twisted in a wry confidential grin. "For the record, and between us- I think this is a terrible plan . . . but it's not like she'd listen to _my _advice . . . and they've utterly sabotaged the original."

Helena was dizzy. The light glimmered his hair into pure gold, and for a moment his eyes seemed cast from the same metal. "Our part," she repeated, laughing a little. Somehow this was all very funny. Oerin laughed too. "What is our part?"

His lips curved into a deeper smile. "We're going to be outraged. Just . . . do what comes naturally, Helena Shan. But . . . afterwards . . . " he paused for a moment on the stairs and raised the back of her hand to his lips. "Afterwards, there is one thing I want you to consider. Much as you hate Bastila, you love her too. And really, when you think about it . . . that gives you something in common, doesn't it?"

"With . . . ?" Helena frowned, confused. Her head spun and she hid her discomfiture behind a veil of bright laughter, just as she'd been taught as a girl.

Oerin did not answer. He only took her hand and led her up the stairs.

XXX

_Carth Onasi_

"Carth?" Rew's voice was closer now, and there was a confused babble of other voices too.

A small child in a robe ran past them and stopped and stared, eyes wide. "Aunt Gwen," he called out in Mandalorian. "She's over here!"

"Please," Revan whispered, "not like this."

Carth pulled her closer to him, breathing in the scent of her hair and her skin. She was frozen in his arms, trembling.

"Nine hells," someone familiar muttered in Mandalorian. "I told you to let me just go after them."

"We can salvage it," a woman said in the same language. "Ultimately, this plays to our advantage."

Rew had reached them now. "Carth?" Her soft Telosian voice was concerned. Then her expression froze as she saw Revan's face.

"Oh," the Captain said. She flushed. Above their heads a camera drone hovered, shining a bright light on their faces.

"That's the one!" an excited voice behind her, one of the waitresses from the kitchen. "Carth Onasi called her _Revan_, and her face changed . . . it — it looked like Revan — and then — and then — "

Revan pushed away from him. The growing crowd around them murmured. Partygoers, Mandalorians, and the waitstaff. She reached for his hand and squeezed it hard.

"Revan," Captain Ekkumi said. Faint lines appeared around her mouth as she frowned. "That's impossible . . ." She looked at them both. "Isn't it?"

"No," Revan said quietly. "It's not impossible." She was very still next to him. Carth watched the crowd, saw the partygoers' faces register shock, and then fear. And hatred. He held her hand tightly, seeing the hate there.

_But you hate her too,_ part of him chanted. _You hate her too. _

Around them, voices broke out in an excited babble. There was a reporter wearing the HoloNet logo, who had pushed his way through the crowd. His Bothan face was slack-jawed in shock and the microphone hung loose in his hand.

Behind Rew loomed a hulking figure in Mandalorian battle armor.

"You look terrible, Republic," it said, voice gruff.

"I'm not the one hiding under a helm," Carth answered.

Canderous chuckled.

Rew took a step back. "I should have known," she said tonelessly. "When Jopheena asked me to bring you here, Carth. I should have known."

"Jopheena — asked you to bring him?" Revan's voice was very small.

"I doubt you'd remember," Rew continued, her voice detached, "but I served in a squadron under your guidance, Revan, over Dagary Minor, early in the war. "You — you were a good leader."

"I don't remember." Her voice was dead.

"You have to understand, Revan," Jiya Sand stepped forward. His tone was almost apologetic. "We have to bring you in. Fleet HQ will want to take custody. There are things . . . that you will have to answer for."

"The Mandalorians are innocent in this," Revan said. Her shoulders tensed.

_You're lying, my love. You always lie. _

Whatever it was, it was between them, him and her. Whatever happened, it had nothing to do with the Fleet. Carth could only think of one card to play to make them back off.

He found his voice. "You were stationed on the _Ascendant,_ Jiya. When Darth Revan was captured. In the Outlier systems. Near — _Deralia . . ."_

The Serrocan's eyes looked wary. "I was one of Forn's advisors, yes." He hesitated. "And Bastila's." He shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. "I was on the bridge of the _Aleema _when we captured you, Revan."

"You stayed on," Carth pressed. "As an advisor. Did you help them pick out an appropriate subject, General? Or were you just hired muscle for the Jedi's dirty work?_"_

The man had been in the military too long to give anything anyway easily in an expression.

"You know?" Revan murmured. Her breath was hot on his cheek.

"You know too?" he muttered back. _How does she know? Does she remember?_

"Polla," Carth whispered to her. She flinched at the name. _Are_ _you Polla or are you Revan?_

Revan's head turned back to the General and her voice was cool again. Composed. Frozen. "I don't remember seeing you there, General Sand, but perhaps I wasn't . . . .myself?"

"What is she talking about, Jiya?" Rew Ekkumi asked.

"You tricked her," Revan continued. "I remember _that."_

"Blackmail isn't going to work," the General said steadily. He looked up at the holocam, which recorded everything with its unblinking yellow eye. "We have an obligation, a duty. Regardless of . . . consequences, I'm going to have to take you in."

Rew Ekkumi frowned. "Consequences? Jiya, what did you do? The Fleet can't afford a scandal, not right now."

"Regardless, we'll have one." The General sighed. "We have to take you to Fleet HQ, Revan," he repeated.

"I'm afraid not." A Mandalorian woman had come up behind the others. She was wearing a plain robe and her fair hair was coiled in a nest of braids. "This is embassy property."

"She's not a Mandalorian citizen," Jiya said.

The woman chuckled. She sounded almost- smug.

Canderous sighed.

The woman beamed. "Take off your helm, Ordo," she commanded with the authority of a military general.

To Carth's astonishment the warrior complied. His friend's face was unchanged, as hard and unmoving as Telosian granite. "I'm sorry," Canderous muttered, looking at Carth and then looking away.

"Get on with it," Revan said. "Congratulations, Gwenarius Ordo." She squeezed Carth's hand hard and then let it go, stepped away from him.

The Mandalorian woman grinned. She tossed something bright and long through the air and Revan's hand caught it. The blade cut into her palm.

Before anyone had a chance to register that the Dark Lord of the Sith had a knife, Canderous had a fresh cut on his face, deep, almost to the bone. Revan clasped her bloody palm to it. He patted her shoulders awkwardly.

There was a brief silence, soon broken by Mandalorian cheers. The Mandalorians had formed a phalanx of sorts, between them and the guests. The yellow eye of the holocam flashed.

"Whatever that was, we still have to take you into custody," Jiya said flatly. "I'm sorry, Revan."

"You can't," Revan said. Her voice was toneless. "No jurisdiction."

"What just happened?" Carth asked her. She pulled away from Canderous and stood there, not answering. Her hands were white-knuckled. He noticed with concern that she still held the knife by its blade. Blood dripped unnoticed from her hand.

"As long as our case is a proposed measure before the Galactic Senate, our citizens and their families have full immunity," Gwen answered, in a pleased voice. "You cannot arrest my husband, Canderous Ordo, or his third wife, Revan Starfire D'Re — "

"Enough," Revan snapped. "It's done. You have your alliance and I — " her face hardened " — I'm going to win." Her eyes looked unfocused, as if she wasn't really there at all.

"Third wife? Canderous?" Carth's voice cracked. For a moment he felt like he was Dustil's age. He had an irrational desire to hit something really hard. Or shoot it.

"Feints and counter-feints," Jiya said. "You haven't changed much, Jedi Knight Revan."

"I am no Jedi," Revan answered. She stared at the knife as if she had no idea how it had gotten there. She took a deep breath. "Mandalorian laws . . . " Her head looked up, regarding them all, and her gaze settled on Rew Ekkumi.

"Captain Ekkumi," she said almost formally. "Do you have any claims on the Telosian Carth Marcus Onasi?"

"Claims?" Ekkumi's olive cheekbones tinted with a pink flush.

"Claims," Revan said again. "Are you now or have you ever born any issue that he has recognized." Her eyes narrowed. "You're not pregnant now so I'm assuming not."

The tip of her nose was pink. Her hand weighed the knife and Carth worried that she was going to stab someone. Who, he wasn't sure.

Gwen laughed, and glanced back at their audience. "It's bad manners to speak of such things in mixed company, Third Wife Ordo."

"Forgive my ignorance of proper custom," Revan muttered. "But I am within my rights, as I understand them?"

"You are, although it's not commonly done these days. There's a shortage of men as it is, and many would consider it poor manners to take — "

She moved so quickly Carth didn't have time to flinch. The blade traced a line of fire across his face and her bloody palm pressed against his cheek.

"Two of them," the woman finished.

"Well," Jiya Sand said.

"Aemelie's going to be thrilled," Gwen said. "I'd better go check on the spits."

"I don't think so, Gwenarius," a voice said, coolly. "What is the meaning of this, Clan Ordo?"

XXX

_Helena Shan_

"What is the meaning of this, Clan Ordo?" Every inch the young prince, Oerin parted the crowd of spectators with a wave of his hand, and the ringing tone of his voice. At his side, Helena stumbled a little in shock.

Her. It was her. Dressed as a waitress with a bloody knife in her hand standing between Canderous Ordo and Carth Onasi. _Revan._

Helena watched those unnatural green eyes blink at her in recognition, and that pointed face grow pale.

"A wedding, Fett Lin," the blonde woman in braids said, almost deferential.

"So I can see," Oerin snarled. "And to what purpose do you tie Ordo to an outlander barbarian? Specifically, _that_ outlander barbarian? And _where_ did you find her?"

"That," Canderous muttered, "is none of your concern."

"The barbarians were going to take her," the woman in braids said coolly. "And she's our prisoner, not theirs. How better to hold her than to seal her to our clan?"

"I'm . . . your . . . prisoner?" the woman- _Revan_'s- face was blank and she looked at the ground. At her side Captain Onasi reached for her hand but she pulled away from him.

"_My _prisoner," Oerin corrected them all. "As your Fett, as the Mandalore, she is _my _prisoner, not yours."

A holocam whirred above them; its yellow eye whirred and clicked.

"You are not the Mandalore yet," Canderous said.

The air around them was tense, expectant. The crowd was silent. Helena clung to Oerin's arm, trying to make sense of the events around them. She was so dizzy and her thoughts felt muddled. This didn't seem real. It seemed almost like- a_ bad theatrical production?_ But no, it was only too real. That woman. Revan Starfire was here. She shrank back.

"When I am appointed as the leader of the Mandalorians by the Coruscanti Senate I shall be the Mandalore," Oerin said softly. "Were you trying to stage some sort of coup under my nose before that could happen, Ordo? You overstep your place."

There was a clatter of armored feet behind them, and more Mandalorians in battle armor pushed through the crowd. They were led by the fair-haired boy with the dark skin. He moved awkwardly in the armor, Helena noticed, as if he wasn't used to wearing it.

"I'll take them into custody, Fett Lin," the boy said. Behind him, one of the warriors giggled and he whirled around shooting them a furious look. Another one mumbled something in Mandalorian.

"Please do," Oerin said coolly. He tapped his foot and they began to move forward.

The woman in braids coughed.

"Apologies, Gwenarius Ordo, was there something else you wanted to say before your imprisonment? Said to these noble people of Coruscant? Say to the galaxy that watches you, even now?" Oerin waved his hand at the crowd and at the cameras.

"I just wanted to be clear," the blonde woman grinned, baring her teeth in a defiant smile. "We've claimed Captain Carth Onasi for Ordo as well. Ignorant barbarians may not understand our ways. Will you let it be known that he must share our fate now, whatever it may be?"

"What the hell is this, Revan?" Captain Onasi's whisper carried. He'd grabbed her arm and she was leaning against him now, looking pale but strangely composed. "What are you - "

_"Now, Helena,"_ Oerin said softly, so softly that she didn't even see his lips move. He pushed her forward.

"You killed my daughter!" The words were raw, louder than she meant them to be. They sounded like they came out of a stranger's mouth and not her own. "You! Revan Starfire killed my daughter! Bastila. You killed Bastila!"

Revan's face tightened. Her eyes looked right past Helena. "This wasn't necessary, Oerin," she hissed.

"You are in no position to judge necessity, Revan _Ordo," _Oerin Lin shot back. "Let the woman have her grief."

"You killed her!" Helena said again. Her hands were shaking. She wished she had a drink, wished the light wasn't so bright on her face. The camera would show every wrinkle, every crease, every line of pain.

"No." Revan shook her head, backing away. "This wasn't necessary. You go too far, Oerin Lin, way too fracking far . . . " Canderous caught her arm, and murmured something in her ear. There were tears in her eyes, and she wiped them away, ducking her head as if there was somewhere to hide from the cameras and the crowds. Captain Onasi moved towards her protectively. He looked shell-shocked, as if none of this was real. Helena felt a pang of sympathy. None of this seemed real. Even her own voice, her own words, seemed liked they belonged to someone else.

"Did you know my daughter worshipped you? Looked up to you? She thought you and Malak were the embodiment of everything a Jedi should be, could be. And then you betrayed us all, everything the Jedi stood for . . . and then you killed her!"

Revan's face twisted. "I think I knew Bastila far better than you ever did," she muttered.

"She was all I had!"

"And you abandoned her . . ." Revan's voice was low and angry. She bit her lip, struggling. Several people in the crowd backed away. "I'll see you burn for this, _Mandalore_," she spat.

"Take them away," Oerin responded, regal and unconcerned. He waved his hand again at the crowd and the cameras.

"Helena . . ." Jiya took her arm and she buried her face in his coat, sobbing. "I'll take you home now."

"We need to talk, Jiya," Rew Ekkumi said.

"We will, Rew. But not here. Not now."

The prisoners and their escort moved past them, followed by the holocam's avid yellow eye. The remaining guests whispered, and the Bothan reporter, who had been silent throughout the proceedings, finally found his voice.

"_This is Jokka Rai reporting. Live from Coruscant's Embassy District, history itself is made as the former heroes of the Star Forge are reunited once more. In some strange twist of fate Revan Starfire has been captured by the Mandalorians."_

"_It began as an ordinary diplomatic party. But now, from the Outer Rim to Deep Core, sentients of the Republic will wonder what tomorrow may bring."_

"_Does the fate of the galaxy now depend on the heir to Mandalore?"_

The holocam's bright light was blinding. The fire behind them burned, giving the scene the strange appearance of a battleground. Jiya squeezed her arm, reassuringly. "We'll go home now," he repeated.

"Remember what I said, Helena," the heir to Mandalore whispered. His voice sounded so close, as if he were whispering in her ear. Then he laughed.

Helena looked at him. She really wanted a drink. _That woman. Revan Starfire. She killed my Bastila. _Her nerves . . . her nerves were very bad.

XXX

A/N There was once a fluffier version of this chapter. But it seemed unrealistic, and left me with no idea about how to handle what would come next. Hope this plan (and yes, perhaps Oerin is right, it is a terrible plan), is relatively clear—as far as these things go. . . Hopefully I haven't confused everything either. There's a sort of obvious flaw in this plan...and it's meant to be there. Actually there's more than one, but Revan is only aware of one. Nevermind. It will become clear. (I hope.)

Carth Marcus Onasi Prisoner's middle name for him. Ty for letting me borrow it. Far as I know, Bastila's father doesn't have a name, so I gave him Abasen. I know I'm taking some liberties with the plot (what, **me**?) by having Darth Bandon at the second star map. . . but I just really liked the idea of that scene. (Also I think there's a reference to killing him with grenades in like chapter 1 of my fict - but shhh. . . continuity is...what it is.)

**snackfiend101 **

Hey! It's all funny? Erm well...feel free to borrow it. If there hadn't been so many references lately to Ewok-throwing, I don't think I would have thought of it... heh. Here is the fan and the poo. In spades.

**ether-fanfic**

Thanks again for your patience, and for putting up with two versions of this. Yes, Bastila does like that line, doesn't she? Dustil's reactions to...well a lot of things are up next. I agree that Carth and Revan deserve a happier resolution than this. . . I just couldn't see how it could happen yet. Glad you found it believable like this. Re: how Polla was lied to on the _Ascendant_, it's referenced in the Bastila flashback scene back in...Um...several chapters ago. But it will come up again...

**Prisoner 24601**

Rahasia was actually the star of "Revan's Private Lessons at the Academy." (Useless imaginary fact.) Glad you found the action scenes in previous okay, I kept having to block out the scenes in my head. It made it hurt. Really appreciated your feedback re: the holocron scene, and it's pivotal-ness. Hopefully I haven't obscured that point entirely by bringing the reunion out of the stairwell and into the public eye...I love writing Zaalbar for some reason.

**Tim Radley**

Yep, Mom's Brothel is owned my Mekel's moms. I may be pushing it a little, but here's the beginning of the cockpit scene. Glad you liked that line, I almost took it out...glad I didn't :) Deralian culture, registered smugglers and all is going to come up again, obviously. And Malachi's role in the wars...dum dum dee dum. (Not going to follow KoToR2 continuity on the 'reason.')

**Rose7**

Thanks for the kind words re: Carth. He's the hardest one to write. I keep wanting to slap him out of it...(I'm sure we all do, I promise, soon-) Yeah, the Sithkids are in a mess that's partially of their own making, and partially not...

XXX

As always, thanks guys for reading! Next up, Dustil...Malachi D'Reev (probably) ...and more Carth and Revan...as the fan blades turn.


	21. All the Pretty Hessi

**Disclaimer:** as previous, apologies for the Bladerunner reference, and ty ty Pris :)

**Chapter 21 / All the Pretty Hessi**

XXX

_Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1, Footage from the Mandalorian Embassy_

_Jokka Rai: "I'm not sure what the proper form of address would be . . ."_

_Oerin Lin: "Among my people, I would be called, simply, Oerin, but 'Mandalore' or 'Fett Lin' are both appropriate. For now."_

_(Offscreen: technician's voice: "Cutting to live feed, again in three. One, two, three — )_

_Jokka Rai: " — This is Jokka Rai reporting. Live from Coruscant's Embassy District, history itself is made as the former heroes of the Star Forge are reunited once more. In some strange twist of fate Revan Starfire has been captured by the Mandalorians. Here now with me is the heir to Mandalore, the son of Cassus Lin Fett — "_

_Oerin Lin: "_Fett_ Cassus _Lin_."_

_Jokka Rai: (snorts) ". . . and this is his son, Fett Oerin Lin. Fett Lin, am I correct in understanding that before tonight you had no idea that Revan was hidden among your people?"_

_Oerin Lin: "No idea at all. It's quite shocking that Ordo could hide this from me. When the First and Second Wives of Ordo asked my permission to welcome their husband back to our tents I — "_

_Gwenarius: (halfway offscreen) _"Permission?"

_Jokka Rai: "Canderous Ordo is married? I — if you could explain to the viewers at home . . . and are we to understand — I — I am having a hard time understanding . . . but Revan Starfire married Canderous?"_

_Oerin Lin: "Gwenarius, _y'kleem ya nicht. _(Subtitled translation: shut your craw)._ _"Ordo's fate rests with Lin now_. D_o you forget your place?" (turns back to the Bothan) "I must apologize for my subject, Jokka. You don't mind if I call you Jokka, do you?"_

_Jokka Rai: "N — no, of course not. As I was saying, Revan Starfire married Canderous Ordo?"_

_Gwenarius: "And Carth Onasi."_

_Oerin Lin: _Y'kleem, Gwen! _(Addressing the phalanx of guards that surround them.) "Gag her."_

_(Muffled sounds of protest from offscreen.)_

XXX

_Polla Organa_

"_Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,_

_Go to sleepy little baby._

_When you wake, you'll have cake,_

_And all the pretty little hessi."_

In her arms, Junior wailed. Polla shifted him against her shoulder patting his back.

"_Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,_

_Go to sleepy — "_

"Is he supposed to cry like that?" Seiran asked, walking over to where she was sprawled on the couch.

Polla shrugged. "Hell if I know. Cousin Sara's kids cry a lot." She turned back to the miracle in her arms, lips brushing the dark downy fuzz on his head.

"_Way down yonder, down in the meadow,_

_There's a poor wee little kissra lamby._

_The bees and the butterflies pickin' at its eyes — "_

"Can't you sing something happier?" Seiran asked frowning, over their son's indignant squawling.

"Maybe he'd be happier if you'd pick out a name for him," Polla cooed. "Can't call him Junior all his life, you know."

"You haven't liked any of my suggestions," her husband began again. Polla rolled her eyes. She had Junior's name picked out already, but getting Seiran to accept it would be another story. Maybe it was a dumb tradition, but on Deralia fathers named sons and mothers named daughters. Typically they picked Deralian names. She had something else in mind.

Her husband sighed, and she grinned. "Come here," he said.

Polla stretched her legs out on the couch, patting her son's tiny back. He gave a little burp and his crying stopped. "You come here and sit with us," she countered. In her arms, Junior gurgled. "I think he wants you to sing to him, Sei."

Seiran settled himself down next to them and she leaned back against him. Labor had been a fracking nightmare, but so far motherhood was a blast.

"_Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,_

_Go to sleepy little baby._

_When you wake, you'll have cake,_

_And all the pretty little hessi."_

"Vid frequency seventeen," her husband ordered. "Text only transmit." He smiled at her gently and Polla snuggled closer. "Let's watch the news. Once he falls asleep, I don't want to wake him up again."

"Galactic news should put him to sleep," Polla agreed. "I know it works for me every damn time."

XXX

_Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1, Footage from the Mandalorian Embassy_

_Oerin Lin: "Clan Ordo planned a coup underneath my nose. By sealing themselves to Revan, who killed my father, they thought they could wrest the title of Mandalore away from Lin." (Smiles.) "As you can see they failed."_

_Jokka Rai: "I — I still don't understand, and I'm sure our viewers at home must be similarly puzzled. How would that — "_

_Oerin Lin: "My people are simple folk. From times of old, we have had simple rules and simple ways. At the end of the Mandalorian Wars, the Jedi Knight Revan bested and killed my father in single combat. Technically, that gave her a claim to our highest title. Much as long ago, Ulic Qel-Droma became an _honorary_ leader of my people . . . although practically speaking, the two events are really quite different . . . Still, like Ulic, Revan really has no claim at all to be Mandalore. She's not one of us. Were she part of Clan Lin, (chuckles), it would be entirely different. Do you understand now?"_

_Jokka Rai "Y — yes, I think so."_

_Oerin Lin: "I'm so pleased."_

_Jokka Rai: "But this is _Revan Starfire_ we're talking about here. She — is —"_

_Oerin Lin: "– was —"_

_Jokka Rai: "was — the — the Dark Lord of the Sith. Why — _how _— can you capture the Dark Lord of the Sith with a few Mandalorian guards? What about her Force powers?"_

_Oerin Lin: "Ah, yes. She has none. Not anymore. No Force at all."_

_Jokka Rai: "H-how can you be sure of that?"_

_Oerin Lin: "Mandalorians fought Jedi and Sith alike for centuries, Citizen. We have some small experience with these things. I was very young, you understand, during the wars . . . and afterwards — well, I certainly am aware of her reputation. But Canderous Ordo became aware of her crippled state and decided to take advantage of it." (Spits on the ground.) "The duplicity of Ordo is astonishing. My people are generally . . . very direct."_

_Jokka Rai: "Uh . . ."_

XXX

_Dustil Onasi_

Dustil had twisted his ankle running away from the CoruSec squad that had appeared out of nowhere. The black eye was from where they'd punched him when they'd cornered him in the alley. And Arca's henchmen had shot him in the chest. That shot should have killed him, but there was no mark on him from that fight, no mark at all.

Dustil's ankle hurt, but he could walk. The night guard looked up, deceptively unconcerned when he came off the elevator. "Going out, Citizen Onasi?" the man said. He tapped something on the console in front of him.

Dustil paused. "And if I am?"

The man shrugged. "Your father left orders you weren't to leave." He got up deliberately from his desk. "I have to run to the 'fresher, for a moment. Perhaps in my absence you took the elevator back upstairs."

"Probably," Dustil agreed, walking out the door.

_My father doesn't pay that man. Senator D'Reev does. And he doesn't care where I go . . ._

_Why is that?_

Outside stood the usual cluster of forlorn fangirls. There were five of them out tonight, dressed in pastel jumpsuits, their brightly dyed hair flopping like feathers. One of them squealed when she saw him, but the others had more dignity.

"Hey Dustil," one of them, tall with green-dyed hair called out. Casual. As if they were friends.

He nodded at her. "Hey Petra."

She pretended nonchalance, but he could tell she was thrilled that he remembered her name.

"Hey!" One of the others, a girl with dyed black hair pulled up on top of her head ran up to him. She was blushing under the heavy make-up that made her look older than she was. Sixteen — maybe _—_he thought. Maybe. It was hard to tell.

"What happened to you?" she asked him, taking in the black eye and the limp. Dustil kept walking, but she stuck to his side like a mynock. Behind them trailed her friend. The orange-haired one with the boobs. He'd noticed her before. She was hard not to notice.

"I got arrested."

She was impressed, he could tell. "Where are you going now?" she asked him.

_I don't know. I'm trying not to think about that. _A large part of him had wanted to tell his father everything, and receive some kind of paternal advice. Another part of him was terrified of what Carth would think if he knew the truth. _Last night I killed a bunch of people, Dad. I mean that was good because they were trying to kill me. But the thing is, Dad — the thing is, Father . . ._

_. . . It was fun._

_Was it Mekel who enjoyed it or me? Was there a difference? _He couldn't feel the other boy's mind at all now. He was afraid to, afraid to reach for the Force at all, but it still danced around him, shimmering, tempting — the fangirl's eyes were a deep dark blue and her lips were shiny and pink. She was pretty. Her friend with the boobs came up on the other side of him and took his other arm.

"Hey," she said. "I'm Leesa."

Something metal clanked behind them and Dustil jumped, whirling around. His hand went instinctively to his belt where — there was nothing, not even a blaster.

"Just our shaps," the black-haired girl said, giggling.

Two protocol droids trailed them. At least they were shaped like protocol droids. They were also heavily armed.

"Shaps?"

"Chaperones . . . you know . . ." Leesa laughed.

He looked at them more closely. The red-head was wearing some kind of robe that was cut almost like a Jedi's, except the fabric was embroidered and purple and gold. The black-haired girl wore a green coverall cut like a Republic uniform. The collar was trimmed with fur. They looked, he realized, rich.

"Oh," he said, shrugging.

"They let you out without one, huh?" Leesa sighed. "You're lucky."

"I never noticed them when you were standing around before," Dustil mumbled.

"You're not supposed to." Leesa smirked. "They stealth in guard mode." She clapped her hands. "Vanish CH!" One of the droids winked out of sight.

"Neat trick," Dustil muttered.

"I'm Aramis," the girl with black hair said. "You want to go get some caffa or something?"

"I'm — " _I have no idea where I'm going. _He thought about getting the Mach, it was still in the parking garage on sub 20. He thought about going to the Jedi Temple and — _and what? Saying, please help me not be a Sith again? Saying, there's a group of Sith out to kill you all? Oh and the other night I almost died except I sucked the life out of a bunch of people instead? And then I was laughing and it felt good, it felt like what I was born to do, what I was made to do. Me and Mekel back at the old tricks again. Only more powerful, better, and — _with a shock he realized he wasn't thinking about Mission at all anymore.

_It's just like Selene. She's dead, don't think about her anymore. Like Mom._

He tried not to think about Revan. _Trying to hurt Mekel almost killed me, Arca scared the hell out of me. How could I be so stupid, thinking I could face down Darth Revan? _

"You're looking kind of tortured," Aramis said. "Was it hard, you know, when your Dad was out on that secret mission and stuff?"

"Did you, like, know about it and everything?" Leesa broke in. Her eyes were wide and a soft brown.

_Mission. Secret. _One of the few things that hadn't made the newsvids was where Dustil had been before Coruscant. They'd interviewed Yuthura and Thalia and 'Phile and Odoo; but not him and Mekel.

"He — visited me," Dustil said. _Found me. Told me he loved me. Told me I was a good person and didn't believe in living a lie._

_What was the lie, Father? What was the lie?_

"Where?"

"Huh?"

"You were in school or something, right? Where?" Leesa grabbed his arm and pulled him down a side street. There was an open air café, and she grabbed them a table in the center. Dustil's skin prickled. Most of the other tables were empty, but one was occupied by a pack of sents in apprentice white and Padawan beige. Five of them. He felt them glance his way with more than their eyes. It was a small relief at least that he didn't recognize any of them from those months at the Temple. Less of a relief that he knew they recognized him. And what he felt most from them was . . . _fear._

"Fleet academy, one the cadet branches," Dustil said vaguely. "On Bandomir."

_I wanted to go there once. Before everything blew up._

"Wow, did you meet Revan too?" Aramis asked him. Suddenly he realized something that should have been obvious. They were both dressed like her. Like Revan. Sort of. Or a version of her. Fangirl fashion.

"Yeah," Dustil said softly. "I met her."

XXX

_Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1_

_Jokka Rai: "So . . . Clan Ordo married Revan Starfire. She . . . married the entire clan?_

_Oerin Lin: (Tapping foot.) "No, just Canderous Ordo." (Laughs.) "They must have been desperate, to try such a foolish scheme. No one would support Ordo over Lin in its claim to Mandalore."_

_Jokka Rai: "What does Captain Onasi have to do with this?"_

_Oerin Lin: "Naturally, as an unmarried man I have no idea, Citizen. I suspect it was a _selfish_ whim on Revan's part. From what I have heard about her character, it's entirely in keeping. Act first, think later." (Shrugs.) "No doubt it will be her doom."_

_Jokka Rai: "But from our conversation earlier I was under the impression that Ordo manipulated Revan . . ."_

_Oerin Lin: "I really think our viewers might be more interested in what happens next. Don't you?"_

_Jokka Rai: "Y-yes, of course."_

XXX

_Lena Wee_

The grass rippled in the wind as they made their way over the embankment. Their human guide glanced back at them, his mouth quirking at her expression of distaste. Tatooine was one thing: sand, sand, and more sand she could deal with. This grass and rocks was something else entirely. Lena wished she'd thought to pack some practical shoes. Nico took her arm and pulled her to the top of the hill. Her breath caught. The grass stopped abruptly. In its place, the ground sloped, fused and glassy in the shape of a vast blasted crater.

"This is it?" she said, dubious, her heart sinking_. Another wild ronto chase, Nico's going to be furious_. He'd been so optimistic during their journey, she hated to think of how he would react now.

The tan-colored human nodded. "There were some ancient ruins here, once. My family bought the grazing rights when we immigrated from Corulag; but the Jedi Council owned the ruins, technically. I'm not really sure you can buy them..." his voice trailed off.

_Not that there's anything left to buy. _

Nico's face broke into a happy smile. "It's here," he said. "And it's...alive, I think. I think _— _this will work!" He patted Lena's arm absently and then ran down the slope of the crater.

"Darth Malak's fleet did this?" he called back up to them.

"Yes," the human said, bleakly. Lena glanced at him.

"I'm sorry," she said, suddenly ashamed of Nico's exuberance in the face of the man's obvious pain.

Below them her lover spun in a circle, arms raised to the sky, laughing with glee. "Come down here, Lena!" he called out. "Come down!"

Lena picked her way down into the crater, her heels slipping a little on the fused slope. Her skin prickled. The signs of war were everywhere on Dantooine still, but this place seemed to have suffered the heaviest bombardment._ Is he insane? How can Nico think this bomb crater is . . . whatever he thinks it is? _

_And what is that exactly? Never you mind. Keep your mind on the capital, Lena. Nico does what Nico does. None of your lekkuwax._

Their guide followed her down. Nico turned to him, excitedly.

"We'll need to excavate," he said, beaming. "And I'll need to set up an installation for access."

The man frowned. "My family only owned the grazing rights..." he began, voice trailing off uncertainly. "The Jedi Council would own the rest of it...if the rumors are true and this is really where the Star Map was . . ."

Nico's lekku flicked impatiently. "The Jedi are all gone, now," he pointed out, blunt as always. "And I don't see any Star Map, or any ruins. So don't the land rights revert to you and your family?"

The human flushed. "I don't have any family. Not anymore." He took a deep breath. Lena felt sorry for him._ He's not much more than a kid. _

"Were you here...during?" she asked him

He nodded at her. "We — I _— _left right after...I only just got back here myself...it's still...a little hard to take." He looked around them at the blackened earth and the fused ground. "R-Rahasia and I used to come here, sometimes. Before...it was one of the places that her father wouldn't look for us." His mouth twisted and he kicked the ground, angrily. "Funny how things work out," he whispered, closing his eyes. "The land wasn't worth anything for so long...and now, when I don't need the cash, Koonda's consortium shows up to buy my father's farm and now you with an offer on this."

"We'll give you a good price," Nico said.

Lena gritted her teeth_. Motta had more tact than you Nico Senvi and that's saying a lot. _

"I'm sorry for your loss, Shen," she offered.

"It's funny," he echoed again. "I thought I'd lost everything the day that the Sith bombed Dantooine, but at least I still had Rahasia. But now she's dead." He paused. "Give me whatever you think is fair for the land," he said angrily. "I don't really care."

"Rahasia..." Nico's lekku twitched. "Rahasia from Dantooine? Surely, you can't mean Rahasia Sandral? The famous actress?"

_Chuba-for-brains, Nico. _Someday she'd have to teach the man some tact.

But to her surprise, her lover's obliviousness almost seemed to help. Shen Matale actually laughed.

"Famous? Only in her dreams. Rahasia's one claim to fame was her Revan imitation. That's all she could get work doing." He looked wistful for a moment. "We met her, you know. Revan. She . . . when she was on Dantooine she made our families accept us. Our families had been fighting ever since we were kids, but _— _Revan _— _she _—_shewas a good person," he finished, lamely.

Lena didn't know how to answer that. She'd seen the vids and what they were saying about Revan now. About Mission and the others. _Poor Little Blue, always expecting the best and getting the crap end of the blaster._

"Your Republic is hard on the leaders of its rebellions," Nico Senvi offered. He had that faraway look in his eyes. "Some things never change. Whatever Revan wasor isI doubt she'll find any justice here."

Shen frowned. "My Republic?" He laughed. "It's your Republic too?"

"Of course," Nico answered. His brow ridge furrowed. "We'll give you a good offer on the land rights. Talk to Lena about it. She does all the numbers. I hate numbers."

"How much of the land do you want?" Shen asked. The expression on his face said that he didn't really care.

"Just this part here," Nico answered, thoughtless. He knelt on the ground, placing his palm against the fused surface. He muttered something in that language that wasn't one, a happy smile on his face.

_We'll have to buy more than just the damn bomb crater, Nico . . . _Lena sighed and turned her attention back to Shen Matale. "At least a few square kilometers worth," she promised him. She looked up. High to the north against the darkening skyline loomed a vast sculpture, two figures carved in stone, bold in Jedi robes against the horizon. "What's that?" she asked pointing.

The human followed her gaze. "Oh. The memorial to Bastila Shan and Revan Starfire. They've — they've been having trouble lately with vandals lately."

"Shocking disrespect," muttered Nico from the ground. Then a pause. "Can we buy that too?"

_XXX_

_Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1_

_Jokka Rai: "So, Fett Lin, what does happen next?"_

_Oerin Lin: "Well, after I am appointed titular leader of my people, I will see that Revan Starfire receives what she deserves."_

_Jokka Rai: "Don't you think that's a matter for the Republic to decide? Ah, I mean, she is a Republic citizen." (Frowns.) "Or the Jedi — surely the Jedi might have something to say about — "_

_Oerin Lin: "Seriously, when have the Jedi ever said much of anything?"_

_Jokka Rai: (Nervous laughter.)_

XXX

_Dustil Onasi_

"Dustil? Dustil Onasi?" _Great, just great._ One of the Jedi got up and came over to their table. Male, maybe about his own age, maybe a little older, with fluffy blonde hair and a serious expression on his face. Too serious. The boy hesitated. "You're — troubled," he said.

_No shit? _Dustil thought back at him, hard. The blonde boy flinched. He wore apprentice white, and he was weak.

"Mical!" One of the Padawans called to him sharply.

The boy glanced back at her. "We can't just leave him like this!" he shot back.

"He's a fracking Sith," one of the others muttered._ Miraluka_, Dustil thought. The Padawan wore a brown veil where his eyes should be.

"This is Carth Onasi's son," Leesa said indignantly. "What do you mean, _Sith?"_

"_He_ knows," muttered one of the others. A white twi'lek girl. Pretty. Her head tails flicked at him. What they said wasn't very Jedi-like. Dustil made a rude gesture with the palm of his hand and his arm.

_Yes, a warm reception I'd get at the Jedi Temple. More of this crap._

The waiter who had come to take their order backed away.

Dustil realized he was standing on his feet again, without even realizing how he'd gotten there. It would be so easy to show them how weak they all were. So easy...the Force whispered like a siren's call.

_The hell with this, _he turned to leave. Only that blonde kid was in his way.

"The Sith will come for you," Dustil told him. He wasn't sure if it was a warning or a threat.

"You're injured." The boy frowned and reached his hand up to Dustil's face. Cooling white light came from it, licked around his body. He felt the boy trembling with the effort, he was weak. Dustil's ankle stopped hurting, and the pain around his eye vanished.

"Thanks," Dustil muttered.

"The Force is strong within you. You could be a great healer, if you let your own wounds close, Dustil Onasi," the boy said.

"The Sith are coming for you. For the Council. Do you get it? I met some of their welcoming party last night."

The boy's eyes widened, but he set his jaw stubbornly and didn't back down. "I do not fear the Sith."

"Are you like a Jedi, Dustil? Wow!" Aramis' voice, impressed, somewhere behind him.

"I'm not a Jedi," Dustil muttered.

"You could be," the blonde boy insisted. "Come with us."

"He's _not_ coming with us," one of the other Padawans behind him said.

"We swore to help those in need!" Mical shot back. "Can't you feel his pain? Can't you see how much he — "

The white Twli'lek got to her feet and crossed her arms. Her face was expressionless, her voice hard. "What I see, is a _Sith,_ Mical. You're in no position to help anyone yourself. You don't even have a Master, you're probably going to be asked to leave the Academy soon as it is."

"My own failings aren't the issue, Loyana," Mical responded. "We were taught that no one is beyond redemption. No one. If the lesson of Revan Starfire means anything at all — "

"Oh, no, here we go again," an apprentice muttered, rolling his eyes.

" — Revan's story teaches us that no one is beyond redemption. No one."

"Banthacrap. That's banthacrap," hissed the Twi'lek.

XXX

_Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1, Footage from the Mandalorian Embassy_

_Jokka Rai: "I am sure that to most of you, the lady here with us now needs no introduction."_

_Oerin Lin: "Just say what you feel, Helena. It will all be fine."_

_General Jiya Sand: "Helena, we have to be going now."_

_Helena Shan: "N-no, I'm fine, Jiya. I'm...fine."_

_Jokka Rai: "If you could please, Helena, tell our viewers at home your first thoughts upon seeing Revan Starfire."_

_Helena Shan: "My first . . . thoughts? That woman killed my Bastila! And Carth Onasi — that traitor — he — he was just standing there!"_

_General Jiya Sand: "Helena, we really need to be going."_

_Oerin Lin: "In many cultures there are stages to grief. Blame is certainly one of them. But your daughter died a hero, Helena Shan, did she not?"_

_Helena Shan: "Those rumors . . . they aren't true!"_

_Jokka Rai: "Rumors? What rumors?"_

_Oerin Lin: "I'm sure no one believes the rumors about Bastila Shan becoming Malak's apprentice, Helena. Sith propaganda, you know how nasty the Sith can be. Animals. All of them. You can see why they lost the war."_

_Jokka Rai: "That's just gossip, nothing more. No reputable HoloNet source has ever —"_

_Helena Shan: "It's not true!"_

_Oerin Lin: "Of course it isn't. The Jedi would never cover up something like that. From what I've heard their integrity is unquestionable. Sacrosanct."_

_Helen Shan: "My daughter was a hero! She sacrificed her life trying to stop that woman!"_

_Oerin Lin: "You know I've seen some holovids about what happened to Bastila on the _Leviathan..._terrible things. Poor girl. And yet —_"

_Jokka Rai: "Those are works of fiction, Fett Lin. And unsanctioned by the legal media._

_Oerin Lin: "Oh. My apologies. I was raised on the Rim Worlds, and I am not familiar with your Core customs. Pardon, but there was one of them, the Telosian version, I think it was, that was most interesting. Are you saying they're all entirely fictitious? That's appalling!"_

XXX

_Revan_

_By the way . . . That was perfect, Rev. Just the right amount of outrage._

_I didn't tell you to use Helena, Oerin. That wasn't fracking necessary! _Revan made herself keep walking. Their makeshift escort flanked her, a few of them chuckling softly to themselves.

_Wasn't it? _She could hear his soft laughter ringing through her head. _You looked entirely too complacent standing there. Not at all like a woman betrayed. This plan is bad enough as it is. You can hardly blame me for throwing in my own twist._

_You can't just use people like that!_

_What do you think we've been doing, Revan? And this is a terrible plan, have I told you that already?_

He had, mockingly in her mind about twenty times since the one waitress had resisted her Force compulsion. Ever since Carth caught her arm, Revan had the sensation of everything spiraling out of control. Her lover throwing the holomask chip down the stairs had only been the last sequence in a chain of events that made what came next inevitable.

_I had no choice. _

_You could have controlled the pilot. You let yourself be discovered too soon. They're interviewing Helena Shan now. The things she says . . . it will be all the more touching later, when she forgives you for Bastila's death._

_Do not act without my orders again, Oerin. _

_You didn't give me much to work with, Rev. We needed the distraction. Without it more would wonder why the Dark Lord of the Sith didn't put up a fight..._

_I'm not — the Dark Lord of the Sith!_

_That's what the reporter is saying now. He's surprisingly malleable for a Bothan. I thought they were supposed to be as Force-resistant as Mandalorians. You should really thank me, Rev. Without me, this would be even more of a mess than it is. But it's not going to hold together long._

Carth was so quiet. He walked next to her, still holding her hand tightly, but his eyes were blank and a muscle twitched in his jaw. He was beyond angry, she realized. He was furious.

Somehow they made it to the elevators and back the Mandalorian apartments. She willed herself not to feel her own confusion, or see the dark mist that seemed to surround Carth whenever she looked at him. His hand was holding hers tightly. _That's what's important, that's what matters. He's here._

One of their mock guards let out a cheer as the doors closed and locked behind them.

Carth looked at her warily and dropped her hand as if it burned. He backed away, his eyes scanning the room, the Mandalorians standing around them. "What the hell was that, Revan?"

"The sorriest excuse for a Mandalorian wedding that I've ever seen." Canderous answered him, gruffly. The warrior sighed and turned to Revan. "We did what you wanted, didn't we? Gwen was convinced, but I wasn't sure — and Oerin couldn't exactly talk out loud, not with those maffasops hovering . . ." He frowned. "Those were _your_ orders, not his?"

"I didn't tell him to use Helena like that," Revan said dully. "But the rest, yes. My orders." Inside she was numb. The slash on Canderous's face was already scabbed over, thanks to his implant. The one on Carth's cheek still bled slightly, and his expression was so dark. _What have I done?_

Canderous sighed. 'We've put our necks on the line for you, pilot." His scarred eyebrow lifted as he considered Carth. "And you look terrible, Onasi." He paused. "But it's good to see you again."

"Canderous," Carth nodded slightly, acknowledging him. His stance was cautious. A trawler deer surrounded by wild hessi. "What the hell is going on?"

"The Third Wife's plan makes perfect sense to me." Aemelie's voice laughed, as she unsnapped the helm she wore, and pulled it off her head, tossing it carelessly to the floor. "If the barbarians knew she was Lin, they wouldn't accept Oerin as Mandalore. Still, she could not let herself be taken. Coruscantis love their little treacheries. So, we gave them something they could understand." She nodded approvingly at Revan. "You could almost have been raised by proper women, coming up with something like that. Octiva must have taught you."

_And it was exactly what you wanted all along. So you're happy. It's nice someone is._

Revan forced her lips into an empty smile.

Aemelie ignored her and beamed at Carth. "As the First Husband of the Mandalore, there certain responsibilities you will have. I don't expect you to know them, but my husband will be happy to instruct you. And now that Lin is tied to Ordo — "

"If you'll excuse me, Second Wife, I'd like to speak to Carth alone. In my rooms." Revan interrupted, gritting her teeth.

The look that Carth shot her was beyond hatred. _I'm sorry . . . _she thought at him, uselessly.

"What the hell _is this, Revan?" _he hissed, backing away from Aemelie's familial embrace.

Aemelie laughed. "You don't need to ask _my_ permission for that, Third Wife!"

"Blue says the nets are already going crazy," Mekel interjected.

"Any news from Fleet? Anything official from anyone?" As much as she wanted to drag Carth away from this, Revan had to know. _If I guessed wrong, we're doomed._

Mekel shook his head. "Not yet, she thinks it will be soon though." He frowned. _She also says this is the stupidest plan ever. I-I'm sorry, she told me to tell you that. _He ducked his head and looked at the floor.

Revan glanced around the room. The other guards were taking off their helms too and laughing. Young excited faces, beaming at her. In another second they'd be shooting rifles in the air and singing battle hymns.

_Damn Oerin. Why did you have to pull that stunt with Helena Shan? _It was easy to recognize the familiar emotion she felt now too. _Guilt._

_Banish it. The plan changes, on with the plan. _Revan took a deep breath. "Mekel, I need you to go back upstairs and monitor the guests. Help Oerin if you can, with the Force. Just stay in the background, keep an ear out for what is being said and by who. We need to know what they're saying." _So we can manipulate it. Banish the guilt, banish it. Lock it away. _

"Mekel? You're Mekel?" Carth frowned, looking at the unfamiliar face. "Another holomask?"

The boy nodded at him. "Captain Onasi. Did Dustil—is he okay—I mean—"

"He's at home." Carth looked like a man suddenly waking up from a dream. He glanced at Revan and then looked away fast again. "Whatever this is, _Revan,_ I need to go. I need to go home. Dustil's . . ."

Mekel looked at the ground. "He's not at home right now. He's — somewhere outside. I can't tell anymore than that." His face flushed.

"You have some kind of . . . bond. With my son." Carth made the word 'bond' sound ugly. "You — were on Korriban with him. You came here with him. The other night when he disappeared, he went to meet you?"

"Yes." Mekel sounded defensive. "Mission said he was okay. The CoruSec didn't hurt him . . . I — would have known if they had."

"You let my son get arrested? What exactly were you doing?" Carth's voice was dangerous now.

"I was trying to talk to him. Me and Zaalbar and Mission . . ."

"Mission! That computer..."

Mekel shrugged uncomfortably. "S-she says she's glad to see you too."

Carth winced and turned back to Revan. "I'm not even going to ask how he knows what your computer is saying. Not now. Just tell me. What the hell happened? What the hell is this, Revan?"

"Commander Wann shipped you off on the _Pearl," _Mission said, rolling her chassis into the room. "Ostensibly it's a diplomatic ship but they've got a surprising number of psych personnel on board. And media people. That part of the Fleet is in pretty thick with Senator D'Reev. They fracked with your head, Carth." The lights on her dome flashed green.

"Big Z wants to see you. He's still kinda hurt. So you should come to him. Oh, and Polla-Revan — Captain Ekkumi just sent a transmit to Fleet HQ. Troop request. They're cordoning off the building. No orders to come inside, but no one's allowed to leave without a proper idscan either." She beeped. "I'm not the only one that monitors these things, the other embassies and the guests are all getting out fast. All non-essential personnel. Did you hear me when I said this was a stupid plan?"

Her processors whirred. "Nice outfit, by the way, Pilot Flyboy. Very shiny. And congratulations! I guess you and Polla-Revan are finally married, huh? I always knew you would . . . one of these days."

Carth was pale. _Please be okay, Carth._ "Married . . ." he muttered.

"I'm not surprised about the Fleet sending troops." Revan was surprised at how calm her voice was. _We'll be trapped here until they trot me out before the Senate. But better that than a cell. _

"CoruSec guards too. On behalf of the Senate," Mission chirped.

_Two out of three . . . _"And the Jedi?" Revan resisted the urge to try and sense any close presence with the Force.

"Seems to me, the Jedi could give this whole thing away, sis." Mission added. "They haven't done anything yet. The Council is in chambers. Probably glued to their holostreams with the rest of the galaxy."

Canderous coughed. "The Jedi aren't the only ones that could end this charade before it's begun, Revan."

_I know that, Canderous. _The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach again. _I'm betting everything on the character of a man I don't remember._

Two of the Rialis children ran through the room, engaged in some game of chase. They paid the adults no attention at all.

Mission added casually. "And a transmit from Manaan. One-way. Vrook Lamar says to be careful, you risk more than yourself." She whirred. "Jedi kinda just say the obvious, don't they? You know, sis, it's Manaan that you should worry about."

_I risk everything. And everyone. _The children ran past her, laughing.

_You always did, Red. _For a moment she felt the cold press of metal against her neck and the sensation of strong arms around her.

_What are you doing, what is this? Tell me, Revan. I can't help you if I don't know._

The air was suddenly very cold.

"Manaan." Her throat was dry and Carth was just looking at her with that terrible expression. "Why, Manaan, Mission?"

XXX

_Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1_

_Helena Shan: "I've heard what they whisper, when they think I'm not listening. They say my Bastila fell to the dark side just like all those other Jedi did long ago. It's a lie. I was her mother—wouldn't I know?"_

_Jokka Rai: "There, now, Citizen, don't cry. Are you worried, now that Revan Starfire has revealed herself?"_

_Helena Shan: "Worried?" (Shakes head.) "Oerin Lin will keep us safe from her. Won't you Oerin?"_

_Oerin Lin: "Oh, most definitely."_

_General Jiya Sand: "This — this _farce_ has gone on long enough. I'm taking Helena home now."_

_Oerin Lin: "Actually I should be going as well. I need to see to my people downstairs. Ordo must pay properly for their transgression, you understand."_

_Jokka Rai (Taps communicator, as the camera pans out to show a mostly cleared roof garden.) "As you can see, most of the guests have gone. I'm receiving a transmission from our studios. Further coverage will be coming from there. Stay tuned, sentients! Will the fate of the galaxy be decided in the next few hours?"_

_Oerin Lin: "Fate of the galaxy? Really...she's just a woman with no Force powers. There's no need for dramatics."_

_XXX_

_Dustil Onasi_

"I'll tell the Senator you're here."

The guard looked dubious as he tapped commands into his console. Then surprised.

"He says you can come right up, Citizen Onasi."

"Thanks," Dustil answered. Halfway up in the elevator he felt the now-familiar deadening, as his Force-sense vanished. In a way that was almost a relief.

_But it's not the Senator I want to talk to._

He'd left the Jedi and the fangirls, just walked out on them all. He'd get around the old man somehow. After all, hadn't the Senator said he wanted Korrie and Dustil to be friends? _Well fine then. Friends talk. We'll have a friendly chat. _

_Just the three of us._

Malachi D'Reev met him at the door. Unusual. Normally he had the butler or that creepy droid do that.

"Dustil," the old man said, frowning. "You've heard the news?"

"News?" Dustil shrugged. "I just wanted to apologize for the other night. For lying to you and Korrie. For standing you up with your dinner plans." He looked at the marble floor, looked ashamed. Looked harmless. Like a kid. _Go away old man, me and your grandson are gonna have a little talk._

"You haven't heard . . ." Senator D'Reev frowned and sighed. His expression was troubled and concerned. He was good at that, but Dustil didn't buy it. Not for a second.

Behind him the door slid shut and the lock clicked.

"What news?"

The old man took a deep breath. "Your father — " he began.

XXX

_Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1, HoloNet newsroom footage._

_Anchorwoman Iyrass K'chk: "Thank you Jokka. That was Jokka Rai, our reporter on the ground at the Mandalorian Embassy. Back here at the studios, the mood is — confused. Can all this be true? Can Revan Starfire really be captured by the Mandalorians? And what about her Force Powers? Can they really be gone? Joining me now is Jrii Vail, a childhood companion of Revan's from the Arkanian Jedi Academy. You may remember this good Duros from the _Official Coruscant Version._ Jrii, it's a pleasure to have you with us. Tell us about your first reactions to the news."_

_Jrii Vail: "Well of course there were rumors that she was on Coruscant, I mean, everyone heard them." (Laughs.) "So it's not such a surprise, is it?"_

_Anchorwoman Iyrass: "Yes, but what does it _mean?"

_Jrii Vail: "Well it's a matter for the Senate to decide, isn't it? I mean, technically she's a war criminal — "_

_Anchorwoman Iyrass: "Yes, yes of course. But it doesn't seem so long ago that she was the hero of our age, does it?"_

_Jrii Vail: "I may just be a simple businesswoman, but honestly I am worried about this Mandalorian issue. Can we really trust them?"_

XXX

_Yuthura Ban_

"What the _frell_ is the Gamemaster doing posing as the heir to Mandalore?" Sheris' clipped Hothan accent only came out when she was upset.

On the holoscreen the clip played again. The woman's face was an unscarred version of Sheris' own. _The original, _Yuthura thought, watching. Revan's features twisted with hate again as she said something threatening to the golden-haired man and the woman in orange and black at his side. _Bastila's mother. _She'd met the woman briefly, during the filming of the _Official Coruscant_ version. Behind Revan stood Captain Onasi, looking confused, and the Mandalorian they had traveled with. Canderous Ordo.

"Are you sure that's Lin?" Beya Organa was never far from Sheris' side these days. The Deralian rubbed her friend's neck, trying to ease the tension.

Sheris looked at them all incredulously. "I don't understand how you aren't sure. He was here for months!"

Davad Arkan frowned, rubbing his forehead as if it hurt. "We never saw his face."

Yuthura's lekku twitched uneasily. "Of course it's him," she said, puzzled at Beya and Davad's confusion. "I saw his face—we all did, when he took off his mask in the training room."

The Onderonian looked at her blankly. "Darth Lin had dark hair. And a scar."

"No he didn't."

"It's him," Sheris' voice was toneless. "I was—closer to him than most." Her prosthetic hand picked at thedull metalmask that covered half of her features, hiding the horrible burns. "His tricks didn't always work on me." Her good eye blinked a few times and she shivered.

"Lin _is_ Mandalorian," Yuthura admitted, almost absently. The matter of Oerin Lin was curious, but her attention was focused on Revan. Revan and her pilot. _Should I wish you congratulations, my first friend? Or pray to the Force? _The brief conversation she'd had with Captain Onasi haunted her now. The man hadn't seemed to understand a word of it, and yet there he was.Both of them looked like they'd been hit with a flash grenade. "Vrook implied as much."

"A Sith Mandalorian?" Davad sounded skeptical.

"He was no Sith," Sheris answered. "He was a _Mandalorian._" She made the word sound like a curse. "Kun save us from another one ever being born that can use the Force."

"What is he doing with Revan?" Vikor asked softly, looking up from the floor and the nest of wires that had once been their monitoring system. The Rylothan was good at disabling their surveillance monitors. Since they'd discovered this they'd been able to speak more freely. But the commlinks were another matter entirely.

"What is Revan doing with him?" Gharen countered. "She hated Mandalorians."

"She's not our Revvie," Beya had half-pulled Sheris onto her lap, rubbing her shoulders to calm her like one would gentle an animal. Her own expression was at odds with the comfort she offered; her mouth twisted in a feral smile. "Look at the way she stands, her voice. She's a shell of the woman she was. Nothing more."

"_That's _the redemption they'd offer us?" Sheris murmured, her head buried in the taller girl's shoulder. "You promised us more than this, Yuthura Ban."

"That's what redemption is," Davad answered. "For the lucky."

On the floor Vikor gave a harsh laugh.

"Promised?" Yuthura's laughter was hard. "I promised you nothing except your lives. Did you enjoy being as you were so much?"

"What we've seen, you can't understand." Armon Wu whispered. "Attack ships on fire off the shores of Dagary Minor...c-beams glittering in the dark near the Tanhauser Gate as the Republic Fleet crumbled and died... We've seen entire worlds die in a heartbeat. Or burn and suffer for weeks, crippled and screaming as each life on them cried out to be saved. Or for the pain to _— _stop." His voice shook. "And we made the pain stop. We ended it for them all."

"At first, it was easy," Sheris said. "Because of her." The look in her eyes was almost worshipful. Still. Too easy to see the brash Padawan she'd been once, and the Sith minion she had become. "With Revan to guide us, the war was a game. Patterns. Death and life in balance, and each death only a spark going out. She made us not feel them."

"Then she made us what we are," whispered Vikor from the floor. He shot Yuthura a half-apologetic smile. "It was different for you, bakata — " the Twi'leki endearment made her skin flush. "You came to the Sith cause willingly . . . we — "

"We were forged," whispered Davad Arkan, staring at the screen. "We were chosen." He stared at his hands. "My old Master tried to warn me, but it was already too late. I was . . ." His eyes closed for a moment. "I was a good Jedi, once — or I thought I was — but I was wrong. All the good Jedi went to Malachor V. On her orders. And all the good Jedi died there."

Yuthura was losing her patience. _I've heard this all before. You've told me the same stories a thousand times. _"I joined the Sith because they were expedient. A means to an end. They told me to kill, and I killed. But soldiers kill, people die in wars every day. The Sith gave you power. Strength to achieve your goals. You need to take responsibility for what you did with them!" _What am I saying? _For a moment black spots danced in front of her eyes and she felt a copper taste in her mouth. Familiar madness, safe and comforting as a warm blanket.

Beya Organa laughed at her. "And how is the eradication of the slave trade going, Yuthura Ban? Have your people broken their chains yet? Have you begun the glorious Twi'leki revolution?"

Vikor only stared. What was in his eyes, he didn't have to say. Bile, deep in her throat. She'd been born on Sleyheyron. He was from Ryloth itself, the Twi'lek homeworld where her people bred and sold themselves for profit. His family had been on the side of the profiteers. The divide between them — _master and chattel — _yawned wide again. Despite her affection for him, it always would.

There was no good answer. Or easy answer. For the first time, Yuthura understood why the Jedi code truncated the world into simple divisions: _good and evil, black and white. It's easier, than facing the truth._

XXX

_Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1, HoloNet newsroom footage._

_Anchorwoman Iyrass: "I've just received word that the Galactic Chancellor, C'tek Nal'Gahar is going to make an official statement very soon. We've still heard nothing from the Jedi Council, which I'm sure comes as no great surpr —"_

_(Off-camera voice: "No commentary, Citizen, just the facts.")_

_Anchorwoman Iyrass: (Coughs.) "The facts. Well, to recap for our viewers just tuning in. In a startling turn of events, Revan Starfire has been captured by the Mandalorians after a rather . . . incomprehensible attempt to avoid her fate by marrying into one of their clans. I'm not an expert on Mandalorian culture, but joining me now is someone who is. This is Xarga Weis, formerly a Mandalorian warrior, now a citizen of the Republic. Tell me Citizen Weis, what do you think of the new Mandalore, and his so-called capture of Revan Starfire?"_

_Xarga Weis: "Mandalorians are not ruled by unblooded children. The Lin cub has no real claim."_

_Anchorwoman Iyrass: "Well, that's interesting — but those other Mandalorians seem to believe he does. Why is that? And what do you mean by 'blooded?' Are you saying that a Mandalorian has to kill to be your leader?"_

_Xarga Weis: "Well, of course. Don't your Republic leaders prove themselves in battle?"_

_Anchorwoman Iyrass: (Laughs.) "Of course not! The Republic is a peaceful confederation of worlds! We're civilized!"_

_Xarga Weis: "Does saying that help you sleep at night, Citizen?"_

_(Off-camera voice: "Get him back on topic, please.")_

XXX

_Dustil Onasi_

The old man led him into the library. The marble walls shimmered and chattered, with a cacophony of broadcasts, widebeam from all sectors of the galaxy. In the center above the desk, the image Dustil didn't want to see. Revan and his father, surrounded by Mandalorians. His father had a cut on his cheek and blood welled from it. His father looked furious — and somehow blank.

"_So, if Oerin Lin has no claim to the title, what does this mean regarding Revan?"_

"_Clan politics are not something I'd expect an outsider to understand."_

" _— here on Manaan, eyes turn to the fate of the Selkath ten. Now that their leader, Darth Revan has been captured by the Mandalorians . . ."_

"_. . . in session and have no comment at this time. Speculation runs rampant that the Jedi Council will . . ."_

"_Hothan leaders deny any relationship between the Dark Lord of the Sith and their planet . . ."_

"_. . . riots in Cinnegar . . ."_

"_. . . rumors of more infighting on Ziost today as the news . . ."_

"_Corulag officials demand that the Senate take some action. Mandalorian —"_

"_Yu-Phaedrans fear for a return to the old days of Sith occupation . . ."_

"_...expected, the Onderon royal family has issued the following statement . . ."_

"_The Echanis system threatens to secede from the Republic unless full reparations . . ."_

"Audio off," the Senator said. The voices ceased their whispers.

Dustil was _not _going to give the old man the satisfaction of seeing his response. _Don't show fear. Don't show shock. Don't show anything._ The images continued to be projected on the walls, interjected by clips of Darth Revan and Sith ships. _What a fracking mess._

The old man's face pulled into a smile, watching him. "Innocence lost is a sad thing, but sometimes necessary. Don't you find it so?"

"What did _you_ have to do with this?" Dustil asked him. He tried to keep his voice steady, tried not to let his fury show.

The Senator sighed. "With this?" He waved his hand at the frozen images surrounding them. "With this — nothing. This . . . debacle is Revan's work. It's my job to clean it up."

Something moved behind them. The Senator didn't look surprised, he simply raised his eyebrows and spoke.

"Malachor — how many times do I have to tell you"

Dustil whirled around. He heard a gasp, a child's indrawn breath. A patch of air shimmered. _Stealth field, the kid's gotten better at sneaking._ Dustil would have expected tears . . . but the kid stood there, chin up, glaring at his grandfather.

"What are you going to do now, Grandfather?" Gray eyes met gray. Both of them the color of durasteel and just as hard.

"I'm going to work," the old man said. His shoulders straightened, painfully thin under his clumsy formal robes and heavy ridiculous collar. He folded his hands neatly in front of him, and bowed almost ceremoniously to his grandson. "And you will stop trying to spy on me, Malachor."

The kid bit his lip. "I wanted to know!"

The old man shrugged. "Are you so eager to be an adult, Korrie?" His voice softened, slightly, but his words weren't soft at all. "Everything I have done to prepare the future for you she has undone. By her presence. By her existence."

"She's my _mother,_" the kid hissed stubbornly. "And she's good now!"

The Senator shrugged, walking over to his desk, tapping commands into the console set on its surface. "You want to be an adult, Malachor? Let me pose an adult question to you: does it matter more what her intentions are or what she has done?" He glanced at Dustil, mockingly. "Do you think it matters to young Onasi here?"

The kid looked at Dustil as if seeing him for the first time.

"Why are _you_ here, Dustil?" Korrie asked him. The kid's nose was running and he wiped it on his sleeve.

"He says he came to apologize for not coming to dinner the other night," Malachi D'Reev murmured, tapping intently at his console. He settled into his chair. "Text only," he commanded it, and the green letters on the desk's flat surface reflected over his face, lighting it with an eerie cadaverous glow.

"I came because I want to know the truth," Dustil interrupted. That wasn't why, but it would do. Suddenly it seemed very important. "What did you do to my father, Senator D'Reev?"

The old man laughed. "Your father is a hero, boy. But you . . . you are something else. What were you really doing in the sublevels the other night?" He examined Dustil as if he were a specimen under a microscanner. "I managed to keep the corpses out of the official report...Blaster burns, lightsaber — and something else. Most of the Underground won't talk to our troops of course, but . . . bribes are always effective. And...a certain establishment is owned by a Deeka Jin, at least nominally. Isn't Jin the surname of your little Korriban friend?"

"What did you do to my father?" Dustil repeated. _Don't try and blackmail me, you asshole. _Where his father was now — the Mandalorian Embassy? Married to Revan? All of that was something he'd deal with later. Right now he wanted to know the truth.

The old man shrugged. "I've read your files from Dreshdae, Dustil Onasi. Surely one such as you can understand the . . . practicality of bringing someone around to your way of thinking?" His voice lowered, thoughtful, as he continued to tap commands on the screen. "Uthar thought you had potential. As did the Ban woman." His lips curled in slight distaste.

"How can you know that?" Dustil didn't realize he was yelling until the words came out. "What are you?" He backed away from the old man, realizing too late the door behind him was locked now.

The kid edged slightly closer to him, hands clenched in fists. The Senator's expression changed, noticing that. "Sit down, Malachor," he said, almost pleasantly. "I thought you wanted to know more about your parents."

"You _lie_ about them!" the kid's voice was fierce and low. But he backed obediently into one of the heavy chairs set against the wall. He curled into it, legs hugged to his chest, rocking slightly back and forth. His grandfather watched, expressionless.

The old man looked at the frozen tableau of the holoscreen in the middle of the room. Revan and Carth, surrounded by Mandalorians. His hand tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"Is she ignorant, do you suppose? Or very, very clever? If she really was Revan, the choice would be obvious. A faraway smile pulled at his mouth. "Revan was both."

"What are you?" Dustil demanded. He realized his hands were sweating. "A-are you Sith?"

"Hardly," Malachi D'Reev scoffed. "I'm a Senator. Through your parents, Malachor, I would give you three empires," he added. "And through my guidance, the knowledge to lead them."

"I don't want any empires," the kid whispered, biting his lip. He wiped his nose again. His eyes were still dry and cold.

The Senator laughed. "Nor did I at your age. But little boys grow into men. If they survive that long. You have a responsibility to the Republic. As I did. As all D'Reevs do. Someday perhaps, you will understand that." He paused, frowning. "If the worlds your parents ravaged let you live."

"I'm leaving," Dustil announced. "Frack this, frack all of it."

"A poor servant of the Republic I would be, letting a Sith murderer loose amongst an unsuspecting populace," Malachi D'Reev replied. "The time to let you fly free, Dustil Onasi, has passed. You have a new utility now." The old man got up from his desk and turned and spoke to thin air. "Watch him closely, HK. I'll be back in an hour or two." His pale eyes were hooded. Another stealth field shimmered in the middle of the room and the droid's figure emerged, armed, with a blaster rifle aimed right at Dustil. Dustil made himself not jump, not make any sudden moves.

"You can't keep me here!" he said indignantly.

The old man chuckled. "No? Keep him downstairs and away from Malachor's rooms," he told the droid. He gave his grandson a smile. "Korrie, perhaps you could see if the lad wants anything to eat. I'll be back soon."

"Where are you going?" the kid asked. His voice was small and scared.

"An errand, none of your concern."

"Don't hurt her!" The kid was really pale, and his eyes were finally breaking out in waterworks.

Malachi D'Reev laughed. "It's too late to hurt her, Korrie. She'd serve no purpose dead now." His voice gentled. "How can you care for a woman who abandoned you? We'll discuss this more when I return. See to our guest now. Sometimes I wonder if you've learned nothing at all . . ." He shook his head in disgust and walked away. The doors to the library slid open then shut behind him.

Dustil's mouth opened and closed. _Frack this! Get out, get and go —_

_Go where?_

The kid was crying softly to himself wiping his nose on his sleeve. He stood in front of the holoimage of his mother and Carth and reached out to touch the insubstantial image. His fingers passed through Revan's arm, splashed blue in the flicking light. "I don't understand," he whispered, turning his face back to Dustil. "What is she doing? Why didn't she just come and rescue me?"

"I'm getting out of here," Dustil muttered. _Somehow. Getting the frack out of here . . . now. No. Wait. Father . . ._

He turned back, pushing past the kid to the commlink. The console was dark and silent now, the holostills frozen above them. Dustil hit the desk with his fist.


	22. We'll All Have Tea

(continuation of previous chapter. will fix the spacing and dropped quotations later...)

**Chapter 22 / We'll All Have Tea**

_Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1, HoloNet newsroom footage._

_Anchorwoman Iyrass: "While we wait for the Chancellor's broadcast, Xarga Weis has been telling me about Mandalorian weddings. You were just saying, Xarga, that what transpired in front of our holocams a few short hours ago was not unusual?"_

_Xarga Weis: "The wedding? No, weddings aren't unusual."_

_Anchorwoman Iyrass: "But Revan Starfire married Canderous Ordo _and_ Carth Onasi. Plural marriages aren't common in the Republic, not among the humanid races, you have to understand."_

_Xarga Weis: "It's hardly my concern that your Republic is full of barbarians. What I was saying was, Oerin Lin's reaction is odd."_

_Anchorwoman Iyrass: "Odd? How so?"_

_Xarga Weis: "As an unblooded warrior, he owes Ordo allegiance, heir to Mandalore or not."_

_Anchorwoman Iyrass: "Well he doesn't seem to think so."_

_Xarga Weis: (shrugs) "Perhaps he managed to find stars, somewhere on his travels. My own Clan has left the known reaches of space in search of them. But Weis was always superior."_

_Anchorwoman Iyrass: "Stars? I don't understand."_

_(voice from offscreen. "Back on topic. Please.")_

XXX

_Deeka Jin_

"The price has just gone up," Deeka said, watching the blue haze of the holoscreen that flickered between them. The crumpled papers nestled safely between her fingertips. Letters from Carth Onasi to his son. The key to her fortune.

Across from her, the hooded figure nodded. "I assumed as much."

"Say, half a million credits? And a percentage of the royalties from the production? Twenty percent, perhaps. After all, without these, _The Return of the Sith _is a work of fiction."

The Ambassador to Ziost shrugged. "Royalties are notoriously difficult to calculate on an underground vid. Wouldn't you rather just have a larger payment?"

"I'm assuming _your_ holovid won't stay underground for long," Deeka replied. "And I need to make provisions for my old age, and my son's welfare when I'm gone." Her heart was beating fast. _Dancing with a rancor, you are sweetie. But half a mill and royalties are worth the risk_. If only her heart would stop pounding so much. Glitterstim did that, when you took too much._ That's all it is, old treat. Getting too old for the sporting life, you are._

She adjusted the brazier on her desk, inhaling more of the sweet-smelling herb that burned within, while she let her other hand, the one that covered the stack of the Onasi letters move slightly closer to the flame.

"HoloNet would pay me more," she said, showing a little teeth. The Sith respected strength, she knew that much. Really they weren't so much different from anybody else. And the letters were more precious than Correllian spice.

"_I saved Revan at the Star Forge," _she began, reading out of the corner of her eye from one of the better ones that she'd placed on top to show Arca. _"We're on Kashyyyk now, recovering, and I wanted to let you know, son, that as soon as it's safe I'll come for you. The Star Forge . . . when I first saw it I thought it was the most beautiful—and the most terrible thing I had ever seen. But I knew nothing then of how terrible it really was . . ."_

Such a stroke of luck it had been, finding such a treasure in her son's discarded coat. It more than made up for the troubles with CoruSec. Not for the first time she wondered if she had the brat to blame for that. _Ungrateful wretch, just the sort of thing he'd do, turn his poor Moms in._

"Six hundred thousand," the Falleen said, opening the metal case that rested on her lap. The golden chips stacked within gleamed with cool fire. "That's all I've brought with me. Budgets, you realize. The frelsk counters on Ziost are quite particular about expenses."

"And the royalties," Deeka insisted automatically, her eyes on the chips. Her heart was really beating rather fast. She took a soothing breath of smoke.

Arca sighed and raised a taloned hand. "Apologies," she murmured, her face flushing a darker gold. "No royalties." The case slammed closed.

Deeka Jin grinned. It was only a matter of time. She'd get her price. _The trick to dancing with rancors_ _is all in the steps you take. Back and forth. Up and down. In and out. The same old game._

XXX

_Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1, HoloNet newsroom footage._

_Anchorwoman Iyrass: "Do you think we can trust Oerin Lin?"_

_Xarga Weis: "I had little contact with the Lin family. After Malachor, it was commonly thought they were all dead. Oerin Lin would have been the outlander wife's son. It's impressive that he's survived. I can't see that he would have any love for Revan. She ordered the death of his family."_

_Anchorwoman Iyrass: "You mean during the war . . ."_

_Xarga Weis: "That too." (smiles) "But after Malachor V, many things changed for our people. Our patterns of battle. The ideology — "_

_Anchorwoman Iyrass: "Malachor V? What happened at — " (Pauses.) "Excuse me, I'm getting a message here, the Chancellor is almost ready for us. We'll be cutting to the Senate floor now, where a group of Senators has gathered to support the Chancellor's decision, whatever that may be."_

_Xarga Weis: (laughs) "Your Republic doesn't like to talk about Mala —(Static.)_

XXX

_Master Jopheena_

It had been a clear night, but dawn would bring rain, she could feel it in her bones. The others were already waiting for her in the small meditation chamber off the training rooms. Once, years ago, this place had been filled with the chatter of a thousand Padawans, the rush and whirl of hundreds of Force-presences, all divergent, but united toa single cause. Now, these halls underneath the Jedi Temple were mostly empty. There were fewer Padawans each year. _The paths a Jedi walked had always meant sacrifice, but in the old days,_ Jopheena thought wryly, _at least we were allowed to be sentients too._ There was much she had forgotten, but she remembered that.

The three robed figures looked up from their meditations at her entrance.

"You're late," hissed the old Cathar. Her gnarled hand groomed her graying locks nervously.

"We've seen the news, Jopheena," the Twi'lek said.

Between them, the Vultan sat with his arms folded. With age, the golden tint to his skin had faded to a dull yellow, but his eyes were bright under the scarred web of his brow.

"I was delayed," Jopheena said. "The Council — "

" — has no idea what to do?" the Vultan asked. His voice was faintly amused.

"You can hardly blame them, they have only my word and Vrook's report to go for reassurance that she isn't Darth Revan reborn . . ." She sat down on the mat beside her old friends, feeling the familiar creak of her old joints.

"I'm sure it displeased them," said the Vultan, "to have to take the word of one 'redeemed' Jedi regarding another."

"What did Zhar say?" the Twi'lek asked. His voice was rusty from disuse and he spoke slowly, his words slightly slurred. Nyrmon didn't speak often, he rarely left his own rooms. He'd been that way as long as Jopheena could remember. _The past cannot erase itself, not entirely. The past leaves its own scars._

"As usual he was quite logical. Much as he cares for his former pupil, if the truth becomes publicly known it will destroy the Order. He recommended that the Council override the Mandalorian's custody claim. Immediately, before she does any more damage." A sad smile pulled at Jopheena's mouth.

"They don't have the authority," the Cathar snapped.

"Ah, I mentioned that . . ." Jopheena sighed. "But as you can guess, there were several who found taking my advice a bit difficult. And when they asked me how Carth Onasi happened to be there in the first place . . . I had to tell them the truth. They know of my Fleet affiliations. And I could hardly lie." She made a face. "Master Klee and his allies want to turn matters over to D'Reev again, of course. They say, if the truth does come out, he can at least leash it with some kind of palatable excuse."

"Not unexpected," mused the Vultan. "Does D'Reev know everything?"

"I'm not the one to ask about what that man knows and what he does not," Jopheena said. "I've always found it safer to assume he knows. I've been rarely wrong."

"It's a simple story," muttered the Cathar. "She only wants her cub and her mate." Her claws raked the ground uselessly. "Why would they deny her this?"

"Such things are never simple, Sylvar," the Vultan sighed.

The Cathar's ears flattened at the sound of the old name. "I am Hoshani now," she murmured. The correction was automatic.

The Twi'lek grimaced. "See that you don't forget it, Master Hoshani."

"How could I,_ Nyrmon?_" The woman's pointed teeth bared in a feral smile.

"Are you going to try and see her, Jopheena?" the Vultan asked, ignoring the others. "Reason with her? Try and explain about the child?"

"I told you already. At the spaceport, I tried to convince her to just kidnap the babe and run away." Jopheena sighed. "Perhaps I spoke too delicately. As she once was, Revan was never subtle. The woman she is now seems little different in that regard."

"Why should you try and convince her of anything?" hissed the Cathar. "Why shouldn't she get her cub and her mate back?"

"Because the child isn't hers," Nyrmon said. His hands pulled at his scarred lekku. "Malachor's mother died in the Mandalorian wars. What is left . . ."

Jopheena sighed. _It was easier for us, long ago. We had precious little left to lose._ For a moment, she felt the clasp of his hand in hers, although his face—and his name—had long since gone.

_Peace is my compensation for losing you, my love. I've been at peace now for thirty-odd years. Was it worth it?_

"The pilot, at least, is hers," Jopheena said slowly. "Polla Organa and Carth Onasi fell in love during the quest for the Star Forge. I would have given her the boy too — if I could have done it quietly. She's as much his mother as anyone is. But now . . ."

"Jedi do not love," the Vultan said. His voice was expressionless and his eyes were blank below the terrible scar on his forehead. "Not anymore." Not for the first time, Jopheena wondered who Koobla Han had loved and lost. There are some stories that aren't told in books, some things not written in histories. _And such things are best forgotten,_ she reminded herself. It had been years since she'd needed the reminder. Years since she'd wondered or had any regrets.

"Polla Organa was a Padawan in name only," Hoshani argued. "It was different for us."

"So we've been told," Jopheena replied. She kept her voice mild. Alone of the four she had never asked questions about her old history. _I've been Jopheena Sundancer for thirty-odd years. And that is enough._

_It has to be._

XXX

_Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1, Senate floor footage._

_Reporter Jekk Jekk Umani: "I'm here now with another Fleet representative, High Admiral Resha's aide on Coruscant, Rear Admiral Cein. The Chancellor is due to give a formal announcement in a few moments, but while we wait, Admiral Cein is going to tell me what he remembers about Revan Starfire."_

_Rear Admiral Cein: "The Jedi had no formal position in the Fleet, but they came to our aid in the Mandalorian Wars. And Revan Starfire led them."_

_Reporter Umani: "Yes, but what was she like as a person?"_

_Rear Admiral Cein: "I don't think I understand. There was a war. We needed the Jedi to counter the Mandalorian's cloaking technology. They were all very young, but they were Jedi. There wasn't much personal interaction — "_

_Reporter Umani: "So what you're saying is, she didn't have much personality. She was . .. cold? Removed? A lack of affect is a sign of instability in most sentient races. Perhaps even back then, the signs were already there. Signs that the Fleet ignored, at their own peril."_

_Rear Admiral Cein: "That's not what I'm saying at all! She was — professional. Dedicated. They all were."_

_Reporter Umani: "Ah. Of course. And what of Malak?"_

_Rear Admiral Cein: "They served together on the _Leviathan _for a time. I'm not sure what you're asking . . ."_

_Reporter Umani: "Of course you're not. It must have been a great embarrassment to the Fleet when they betrayed you."_

_Rear Admiral Cein: (Chokes.) "E-embarrassment? Tragedy. It was a tragedy. You have no idea, it was no simple embarrassment!"_

_Reporter Umani: "And yet, news of their betrayal didn't reach the HoloNets until Telos was in flames. Why was that, Admiral? There were rumors, stories, whispers . . . but the Fleet was silent. Why?"_

_Rear Admiral Cein: "This line of questioning serves no purpose."_

XXX

_Mission Vao_

Tactically, another tie to a Mandalorian clan made perfect sense, although Mission wasn't sure that Revan was thinking logically. After that however, the plan was a complete mess. But it was really cool to see her back together with Carth. If the nets weren't completely going to hell, Mission would have been happy for them.

In front of Mekel, the Mon Calmari attaché to the Galactic Chancellor and the Ambassador to Aldaraan's human secretary were discussing the Mandalorian vote and the most recent turn of events while they stood in the long line of sentients who were all desperately trying to leave the building. Mekel started to move away towards the kitchens.

_No, bantha-breath, stay put and listen to them. This is interesting.—_

"I don't speak Aldaraanian," Mekel muttered under his breath.

_Yeah well, nerf herder, I do. Just stand here and listen okay? I want to hear this._

"We have a responsibility, I believe, to rebuild the sectors the war destroyed."

"It's not a moral issue," the attaché rolled his eyes and grunted. "If we don't assist them, the Mandalorians could find help elsewhere . . . Ziost, or one of the Hutt-controlled quadrants. Believe you me, the Chancellor fully supports colony recognition for the Malachor system...but some of the Coruscanti senators — still have their doubts."

The human chuckled. Like all Aldaaranians his features were masked under a heavy layer of white make-up, gilded with gold and silver. He stuck a hand in his belt and snagged a boiled maffa-egg from a passing waiter. The waiters were serving again, but they all looked scared out of their skins. Mission would have giggled. Big bad Darth Revan. Yeah, right. They should see her in the morning before she'd had her kaffa trying to tie her own shoes.

"I notice there is no D'Reev lackey in attendance."

The attaché snorted. It might have been a laugh. He lowered his voice, and gestured with his head tentacles. "Oh, _he'll_ vote in favor. He has more to gain than he lets on . . ."

The Aldaraanian frowned. "Even now? It's true, then?"

"Especially now, I'd think. Recognizing Mandalorian sovereignity gives the old man . . . interesting leverage." The Mon lowered his voice. "If the Fett Lin were to meet with an unexpected accident . . ."

The secretary scoffed. "You can't expect me to believe that the Mandalorians would accept something like that! And — what about . . ."

"_Her? _D'Reev will take care of her, one way or another. Have some faith."

"You know," the Aldaraanian said thoughtfully. "I'd really like to meet her."

"You want to meet Revan Starfire?" the Mon's gurgle was incredulous. "Stars and water, why?"

The secretary shrugged. "She reminds me of someone."

If the Mon was right about D'Reev that was good news. Mission would have cackled evilly and rubbed her hands, instead she just beeped. Back downstairs in the Madalorian quarters, Zaalbar groaned from the bed and she rolled over to check on him again. The slash in his arm was really nasty, and their walk through the sewers hadn't helped.

She stuck out an appendage to change the bandage again and he batted her away. "I'm fine, Mission-ghost. Tell me what's happening upstairs."

"Well it's a little complicated at the moment, Big Z — " Mission started to explain. The Wookiee's eyes glazed over. Poor guy, he was hurt worse than he liked to let on.

"I am happy," he groaned, halfway through, "for Carth Onasi and Polla-Revan." His eyes fluttered. "I hope they have many strong cubs." The Wookiee closed his eyes and sighed. "This seems like a good plan. Polla-Revan is always very cunning. The infidels will have no idea what to expect."

Big Z was giving Polla-Revan way too much credit. Mission would be surprised if Polla-Revan could count past five at this point. That was the disadvantage of an organic mind, she thought. All of the emotional baggage. Deliberately, she did not reflect for even a millisecond on that stupid Sithboy and his idiocy.

XXX

_Rear Admiral Cein: "Back to this again. What was the Jedi Knight Revan like as a person? Well, she was charismatic. She had a keen tactical mind."_

_Reporter Umani: "Yes, but did you like her?"_

_Rear Admiral Cein: "The issue never came up. The Jedi kept themselves apart. Revan led them. She and Malak — "_

_Reporter Umani: "I've heard an odd rumor about the two of them . . ."  
_

_Rear Admiral Cein: "I can't comment on that."_

_Reporter Umani: "Have you seen the _Coruscanti Underground Version_?"_

_Rear Admiral Cein: "Of course not! That's . . . pornography. And it's illegal."_

_Reporter Umani: "Well yes but — there's that odd wedding sequence. Didn't they use swords or something? Wasn't that how Malak lost his jaw?"_

_Rear Admiral Cein: "I hardly think this line of questioning dignifies a response." (Sighs.) "But no. That wasn't what happened." (Glances at commlink on his wrist.) "Apologies, my superiors want me at Fleet HQ. I'm sure you understand."_

_Reporter Umani: "Naturally, I do. You'll all need to get your stories straight about the Mandalorian Wars . . ."_

XXX

_Dustil Onasi_

The second the old man walked out the door, Dustil was at his desk, trying to open a commlink to the outside world. _Whatever the hell this is, I have to speak to Father. Whatever's going on, he'll — he'll — _his thoughts stammered as he remembered his father's reaction to most things lately. _He's just as lost as anyone. He has no fracking clue what D'Reev did to him — what —_

"It's voice-coded," a small voice said behind him. Dustil whirled around. The kid was still standing there with his hands in his pockets, their pet assault droid behind him. "You can't access anything. I've tried. Lots of times, I've tried."

Dustil ignored the kid. His original reasons for coming seemed ridiculous now. He walked out of the room and down the endless halls to the front door. It was locked. The hallways were eerily empty. Usually there'd be servants around. Angrily he kicked the door with his foot, it didn't budge.

"He locked you in," the kid said, pointing out the obvious. The kid was following him like a pathetic fracking kath pup. "Come to the kitchen with me, Dustil?" The kid cocked his head to one side and looked up at him. "Please?"

"I'm not hungry," Dustil snapped.

"That's okay. Please come?" Korrie's lip trembled a little. He held out his hand like he expected Dustil to take it. Somewhat to his own surprise Dustil did, let the kid lead him around the halls to the back of the apartments where the kitchen was.

The cook and one of the servants—Isuop, he thought, or maybe Kleg—they all looked alike in their uniforms—were watching a small portable holoscreen and sitting around the large table in the middle of the room. They both jumped up, looking slightly guilty when Dustil and the kid came in.

"Get out," the kid said, almost carelessly. "I need to talk to Dustil alone."

The HK clanked behind them.

"Your grandfather—" the cook began.

"Grandfather isn't here. Get out." The kid shot them all a look and they paled. "I won't tell him about the portaplayer if you leave now," Korrie added.

The servant muttered something under his breath. The cook made some kind of sign that looked religious. Dustil just blinked at them. They were both from one of the outlying Corellian worlds, he'd learned before, when he and Father had stayed here. A small village there. D'Reev liked his servants unsophisticated and well-trained. They cleared out.

Korrie sat down at the table in one of the chairs. His legs didn't quite reach the floor. He gestured to another and Dustil slid into it, cautious. He still wasn't sure why he was here, going along with all of this. Something — something about the air was strange. Like a buzzing, faint in his head. He shook it trying to clear it. It took a few seconds to realize what it was.

_The Force._ Faint, like screaming through layers of gauze, but it was here.

"You feel it, don't you?" Korrie asked him. He glanced at the HK that was still standing there, silently watching them. Watching Dustil with a disrupter rifle in its appendages. _Don't make any sudden moves._

The kid grinned at the droid, crooked tooth and all. "Deactivate yourself, you stupid metal gearhead."

The red eyes whirred and dimmed. Then went out.

"Yeah," Dustil answered, willing his voice not to crack. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up. "I feel it."

"I didn't know how to do that before," Korrie said. "But Father's been showing me things. To help." He looked at the table. "I was sort of happier before when I didn't know Grandfather did so many bad things. But now . . ."

"Do what, exactly?"

"Turn off Ache Kay, make the servants listen to me. Make the Force come back . . ." the kid's voice trailed off. "Does the Force feel like music, kind of? Singing in your head sometimes? Like someone singing you a song to make you sleep?"

"Not exactly." Dustil swallowed. The Force presence shimmered faint around the kid now. He couldn't tell if it was Malak's ghost or the kid himself. His original reason for coming here came back in a rush.

"I came here to talk to your father — to Malak," he told the kid. He felt his face flush. It sounded so stupid said out loud. _I came to ask him what it feels like to fall. And how you know when you have._

"Oh," Korrie said. His eyes opened wide. "I thought you came because of our parents." He bit his lip. "'Cause they got married so now it's sort of like I'm your broth — "

"No." The denial came out harsh. Dustil watched Korrie flinch. "We're not family, kid. I don't care what you saw on the vids. We're not. They're not married, not really married."

_Not like my parents were._

"But that's how my parents got married," the kid answered him. Eerie, almost echoing his thoughts. "It was on Mandalore. Father said it was a very happy day. Right before I was born. But my mother married Canderous Ordo too. Why would she do that?"

"I have no fracking idea," Dustil snapped. There was a long silence.

"Why would she do that?" Korrie repeated. His eyes were unfocused. With a chill Dustil realized that Korrie wasn't talking to him at all.

"Throw them off of what?" the kid finally said. "Why don't you tell her it won't work then?" His lip trembled. "Can't you make her listen?"

Dustil's mouth was dry. The Force shimmered, almost tangible. "Is Malak here?"

Korrie turned back to him. "Of course he's here. He's almost always with me, as long as there's Force. The ysalamiri block him though." He looked sad. "But he showed me how to fix it. But I liked them. They're sort of like pets when they're little, before they grow roots. They're dying in here now. Father showed me how to make them die." He took a deep breath. "But only in little places, where grandfather won't notice. Father says if Mother doesn't come rescue me soon then we'll have to do it ourselves. Grandfather's gonna send me away."

"Away?" Dustil echoed, trying to take it all in.

"Away," the kid nodded. "Off-world. Away from Mother. We can't let that happen, Father says." He looked fierce. "No matter what."

_Father showed me how to make them die. No matter what._

"You're killing the ysalamiri with the Force?"

The kid wrinkled his nose. "No, stupid. With _poison_. I don't _have_ the Force. Father does."

_I'm not so sure about that. Not anymore. _It was hard to tell, the Force was faint here, barely reachable, but the kid felt . . . different somehow.

"Poison," Dustil repeated. If he just kept saying words, maybe he'd come up with a coherent sentence, eventually.

"Arria's house has bugs so she has poison for them. Granslugs. Have you ever seen one? They're kind of cool...I traded for some slug killing stuff..." The kid chewed on a fingernail. His nails were bitten down to the quick and a little bit bloody. "I liked the ysalamiri. They were like pets. Grandfather never let me have any pets. Did you have pets, when you were little?"

"I had a kerra kitten on Telos." _It died when everything else did._

"Are they fun?"

"I need to speak to Malak. Your father." _I need to take control of this conversation again. I need to get out of here. Fracking hell._

There was a lump in his throat. Angrily, Dustil willed it to go away.

The kid blinked. "Talk then. He can hear you when I'm here."

"Is there — is there any way I can talk to him . . ." _alone. Without you. This isn't kid stuff, Korrie. It's serious. It's bad. I don't know what it is. I don't know why I came._

_Arca's assassins should have killed me with that blaster bolt. I should be dead. Why am I not dead? What did I do?_

_My father and Revan — I'm not going to think about that now. I'm not going to think about Mission either. I'm not going to think._

"Do you remember him?" The kid was frowning at him now. That serious expression on that young face. Creepy. He looked like _her._

"Huh? Your father? Of course I remember him." _He's Darth Malak, the entire galaxy remembers . . ._

"Not the galaxy! You!" Dustil shivered. _He heard me. How did he hear me? _The kid's aura was faint, but it was there. It was definitely there. "You're shouting," Korrie continued, as if all of this was normal. "Stop it. The servants may be scared, but they aren't deaf." He paused, scrunching up his features in thought. "He says if you remember him enough, maybe you can see him. So think about him. Remember him. He says he remembers you."

_He says remembers you . . . Stop it, don't listen. _Dustil closed his eyes, trying to banish the fear. _Think of Malak. Just think of Malak._

"_Onasi, Dustil. From Telos." The clipped metallic voice read his name off the roster and Dustil stepped forward, heart pounding. _

"_Master." He knelt formally on the cold stone floor. Behind him the other apprentices stood in a line. No one dared breathe for fear of the consequences. Uthar and Yuthura stood, arms crossed, surveying their charges for the slightest infraction. Reprisal for any weakness would be swift and final. No one had to tell them that._

_The Dark Lord of the Sith loomed above him, black eyes boring through the top of Dustil's skull as if he could see everything in it._

_Think of Malak, just think of Malak. The Force presence swirled around the man, drowning out everything else. _

"_Tell me, young Onasi, what did you think of your homeworld's destruction?"_

_You destroyed it. Telos was weak. A planet that cannot defend itself doesn't deserve—doesn't deserve to—weak die. The weak die, that is the way of the Sith and you destroyed Telos. Why did you destroy Telos? You killed my mother. You destroyed everything I had —_

_No. Just think of him. Think of Malak. Just Malak. The Dark Lord of the Sith loomed above him, black eyes boring through the top of Dustil's skull as if he could see everything in it._

"_The big star is the Serrano system, and that's Wayland and Bandomeer, twin worlds in its orbit. Twin worlds line the gate to the Hydian Way. When we get to Junction Station we'll stop for supplies. You'll have to go . . . get—more kolto—I cannot be seen here. Not yet. Not far away is Dathomir..."_

_The big man was crying again. Mekel hated it when he cried. Mekel stumbled against the wall. Mekel fell down and dimly Dustil heard voices saying something, felt armored arms, lifting the other boy to his feet again._

"_It's nothing, Kex. I — no, I'm fine, Blue. I'm fine."_

_Mekk?_

_I don't remember Malak, but Mekel does. Mekel does. Why didn't I see it before? He hid it from me, like he hid Revan. But he can't hide from me. Not anymore._

Hardly knowing what he was doing, Dustil reached farther into Mekel's mind, drew on the Force that was there. The Force and the memories.

"_We'll build a new world, Coruscanti son."_

"_Dustil?"_

_He wasn't exactly Dustil, not anymore._

_The ship was small and sleek and expensive. He'd never seen the stars. He —_

"What do you want with us, Dustil Onasi?" the voice was flat and metallic and cold. It sounded real.

"I — I want to know what to do," Dustil whispered out loud. His eyes were still tightly closed. _He could see the ship, see the shape of the big man in the pilot's chair. Something wrong, something horribly wrong with his mouth. His jaw was...rotting away. The air smelled bad and stale and sickly. It made his gorge rise._

_Lord Malak? _He'd gone inside Mekel's head and somehow now Mekel was inside of his too.

"Malachor — don't listen," the voice said gently. The hiss of the respirator faded.

"Why not?" the kid asked. Dustil opened his eyes.

Two faces looked back at him. Behind the kid was a tall man in dark gray robes, not much older than Dustil himself. The man had hair, curly brown hair cropped close to his scalp. He had a jaw, a normal one. And he looked like a Jedi.

"I can see you," Dustil whispered. His mouth was so dry. There was a shimmer of Force around the figure, but other than that it looked substantial. Almost alive. His skin prickled.

"There's a children's story," Malak said. "About a young prince who wanted so much to believe in the gods that he willed them into existence. Like all children's stories, it's a lie. But perhaps there is truth there as well. Believe in something enough, and you will see it." A faint smile crossed his wide mouth. "Although those around you might think you're mad."

He glanced down at his son. Korrie got up from the table, walking _through_ his father and went to the cabinets. He pulled out a large metal pot and filled it with steaming water from the washer, slopping it a little as he put it on the floor. The kid sat down next to the pot, pulling something out of his pocket, unwrapping it carefully. A little tin with brown powder inside that looked almost like tea. He sprinkled it on the water and then brushed his hands on his robe. Malak frowned at him.

"I'll wash it off!" the kid protested, and went to do so.

_Poison. Poison for the ysalamiri._

"Yes," Malak nodded. "I tried to—keep him—safe, ignorant, even as long as I could. But if I don't teach him, my father will. What do you want with us, Dustil?"

_Dustil? Lord Malak? _Mekel's voice was so hopeful, excited. Almost happy. Dustil slammed the barriers shut. _Get out of my head, Mekk I don't need you now._

"Mekel Jin." Malak's voice was thoughtful. He paced back and forth, but his footsteps made no sound on the duracrete floor. "I — I had forgotten. Funny, how such a small act can mean so much to someone else. He was promising, Mekel was. Jorak was too blind to see it, the old fool. Uthar always had more sense." The gray eyes were hard, almost cruel. "Why do you shut him out?"

"I don't want him in my head." Dustil shot back. "I want to talk to you. Alone. This isn't about Mekel, it's about me."

"You." The big man crossed his arms. He looked like a Jedi now, but his expression was pure Sith. Anger in it, boiling anger, just underneath the surface. "Aren't you concerned for your father's welfare?"

"Of course I am!" Dustil snapped back.

"And his . . . marriage. Does it bother you?"

"Does it bother _you?" _Dustil responded. _It doesn't bother me because I'm not thinking about it. _He gritted his teeth. _I'm not thinking about it._

The big man flinched. "If it makes her happy, no." He sighed. "I'm not sure how Red is going to get out of this mess, to be honest. I can guess her intentions — now. She'll pit herself against the Senate, the Council and the Fleet. And my father . . . even if she was the woman she was once — I don't know how — " His mouth twisted.

"That's not why I'm here."

"Then why? I asked for your help once. I tried to warn you to stay away from my father. You're like clay in the hands of a man like that. You're a pawn. You're a hostage now. You do realize that?"

Korrie was pulling open one of the wall panels now, humming something under his breath. He dipped a glass into the pot of water and poured the brown liquid inside the wall. He clucked softly with his tongue and something small and brown slipped out. It was furry. He petted it cautiously with a finger, looking guilty.

"A — a Sith Lord came and found us. Me and Mekel —and some others. Arca something. A Falleen. She sent assassins after us. It was a test. We — I — I passed it. I lived." Dustil took a deep breath. "I don't know why I'm still alive."

"Arca's a Sith _Lord_? They must be desperate on Ziost." Malak's voice was hard.

"I — sucked the life out of them. The assassins. It felt . . . it felt . . ."

"I know what it feels like." Malak turned away from him. "Isn't there someone . . . _alive_ you could talk about this with?"

"Only Mekel."

"Then talk to Mekel. Poor Mekel. He trusted me. And then you. Blind loyalty can be an asset in the Sith, until the end, when it finally kills you. Every time." His voice was bitter.

Dustil closed his eyes. This was hard. "I don't want to be like this," he whispered.

"You're lying," Malak said flatly. "If you don't want to kill, then don't. It's that simple for you. You don't know how lucky you are."

Dustil shook his head. "No. Arca said, the Sith were waiting. For Revan's orders. I think . . . I think they're going to kill the Jedi."

"I doubt they'll kill all of them," the big man said. He frowned. "Does my — does Revan know about this?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything about her." _Except she just married my father. Except my father hates her and loves her at the same time. Except she killed Mission._

_Except she saved my life._

"_You don't want to do this, Dustil." The fake Sith's voice was gentle, and her green eyes were sad. "Put the 'saber down. I won't fight you, but I won't let you hurt your father either."_

_Except she didn't kill me when she had the chance._

"The Revan I knew would have killed you," Malak said softly. "If it served her purpose. Why didn't you bring these questions to her?" He chuckled. "Ah, that's right, you wanted her dead. Did you ever pay attention in your history classes, Dustil Onasi? Your marks were quite high, but now I wonder . . ."

"You — followed my progress?" Dustil's mouth was dry.

"I did. I met your father once. Did he ever tell you?"

Numbly, Dustil shook his head.

"He would have done anything for you. He fought in the wars for you. His love for you was like a sun, like a star. I envied him the warmth of it, we had nothing like that by that time. Not anymore." Malak looked at his son, carefully pouring the poison in the crawlspace he'd opened up in the walls. The kid was humming something to himself, a tuneless humming that grated on Dustil's nerves like a vibroblade.

"What happened to you?" Dustil whispered.

"Do you care? Or are you just frightened of the dark?" Malak's face changed, paled, his eyes burned yellow and there was a slash on his lower jaw, black and gaping.

"Both, I guess." _Don't show fear, don't back down. _"W-was it power or the wars or some kind of ancient Sith — "

"My wife thought she could shield us from the worst effects. Jedi . . . have never done well in wartime. My wife had a gift. And she was strong. We both were. We were fighting for a cause." He looked at his hands, slowly curled them into fists. "But things fell apart. And at the end, Revan made a decision." His voice dropped. "We made a decision, all of us. The hypocrisy of the Republic, of men like my father was . . . no longer something we could champion. I —" his eyes were gray again and haunted. "I — don't think I was in my right mind by that point, I'm not sure any of us were, even Revan. What I felt, she felt — and when she — when — we — decided, realized, we could never go back — we —."

_You all went fracking insane. I'm not you, Malak. I'd never —_

The big man smiled sadly.

_You have no idea, boy. No idea what it feels like to feel half your fleet burn, feel a world end under your bombs, to cut people down with your saber, drain their life, to hate so much that it becomes the only sweet thing left to you._

"I felt Telos die," Dustil whispered.

"Not like I did." The gray eyes were like ice. You could freeze in them.

"Why Telos." The words came out empty, but it was still a question. Part of him was screaming and beating his fists against the wall, but the part in control was just asking the question. "Why _my _world? Why my planet?"

"Red was from there. Sort of. She spent some time there as a child."

_Revan. Red._

"I thought — maybe I could stop things before they went too far. We could never go back, I knew that — I just . . . We were all mad by then. Even her." Malak's voice was uncertain suddenly. He sounded almost young.

"She was light years away with the rest of our ships. Our new Rakatan fleet, I was leading what remained of the Republic capital command. We were to strike Kuat and then Byss. Take out the shipyards, carve a path to deep core. I —disobeyed. She was asleep when the bombing started. Unprepared. Five sectors away but she still felt what I did. I made her feel every death. Every single one. How many people died on Telos, Dustil?"

"Two hundred million," Dustil muttered. _The population of Telos is three hundred twenty-two million, eighty six thousand five hundred and twenty-eight. Lessons from Telosian Civics, third year. Third year was the last year because then there were two hundred million less. Boom. _His hands clenched in his lap, useless. _All dead, all gone, don't think about it._

"Byss was a world with nine billion sentient lives. Kuat seventeen. Do you think those twenty-six billion thank me in their prayers every night, before they sleep?" Malak's laughter was hoarse.

"That's not an excuse!"

"I'm not making an excuse." Malak shrugged. "It's done."

"It's done," Korrie echoed. Dustil jumped. He'd almost forgotten the kid was still here.

"You've done well, little Mal." The big man looked at his son and smiled.

"When we're with Mother again, promise I won't have to do things like this?" The kid was crying. He had something brown and fluffy and still and dead in his hand.

"I promise," Malak said softly. "Put that in the disposal, Mal."

Korrie wiped his nose with the back of his other hand and went to the kitchen's disposal unit. He pulled open the door and dropped the small dead thing in it. "Grandfather will be home soon," he said, looking at Dustil.

"Can you tell, Mal?" The question was deceptively casual.

_The kid doesn't know. He doesn't know he has the Force._

_It's safer that way. _The big man's head nodded slightly. _Yes, he doesn't know. It's just starting, with him. I want things to be different for him than they were for us._

The kid's eyes went blank for a moment. "Yeah." He nodded. "He's leaving the Senate building now."

"Not much time now," the big man murmured.

_Not much time for what?_

Malak turned back to Dustil. "Your father would do anything to save you. You — you do understand, don't you, the love a father has for his son?" His mouth twisted, and Dustil knew somehow that he was thinking of his own father, and that love didn't factor in at all.

"Of course," Dustil answered. The words came out more arrogantly than he meant them to. "I'm sorry — I — " _Frack. I feel sorry for the Dark Lord of the Sith now? Because he's dead? Because his father's an asshole?_

"Do you?" Malak mused. The gray eyes scanned his face. "There's a strange empathy in you, young Onasi, even the years in Dreshdae didn't crush it entirely." He sighed. "That will make this easier, I suppose. I — I am sorry. I regret the necessity. I hope you remember that. Afterwards."

"After what?" Dustil started to get up from the table. Malak hadn't moved, his expression hadn't changed, but suddenly the walls seemed closer together, the air thicker. It was hard to breathe.

"When you — opened your mind enough to see me you made a link between us. Faint, but it's enough for my purposes. I am sorry. But I need to protect my son. And to do so, I need . . . your help."

"My help?" _I just want to get out of here, but how can I get out of here? D'Reev has guards, and defenses, and Malak must know about them and if I help him and the kid, maybe they'll help me and I don't want to be bad, helping the kid would be _good.A good thing._ His grandfather — nothing's worse than that old man and he did something to my father. I have to find out what he did to my father and it's better than some crappy Jedi cell, it's better than running to the Sith and I — I'm scared and I want my father, I want Father — I —_

"I'll help you, Malak," Dustil said out loud. The big man's eyes were oddly luminous and the Force crackled around him like a living thing. It was scary, it was terrifying. And yet— it was power too. Oddly intoxicating, like it had been back in the bad old days. Back on Korriban. Back in the underground. Back at _Mom's_ with Mekel. "What do you need me to do?"

The big man looked away. "I'm sorry," he repeated. Behind him, the kid glanced up suddenly, eyes wide as saucers. "I need — "

Something slammed into Dustil so hard that the world went black.

"—a body . . ." his own lips finished the sentence. His own mouth opened, his own eyes looked down at his hands but Dustil wasn't in control of them anymore. Dustil wasn't himself anymore. It was like watching a bad holovid shot from a drone cam. He could see and hear, but he wasn't there.

_Sorry? You're fracking _sorry?_ Get out of my body! Get out of my head! _It was like drowning. It was like smothering. It was like dying.

_Dustil?_

Mekel's voice was so faint, too faint. The thread of consciousness between them narrowed and snapped.

"What did you do?" Korrie's eyes were very wide and scared.

Dustil's mouth opened. "What I had to do, to keep you safe, Mal."

_No!_

"One of the first lessons we had your instructors teach in Dreshdae. Don't ask dead Lords of the Sith for anything. Don't bargain with them. Don't seek their advice." His voice was harsh. Not quite his voice. Not anymore. "I'm sorry, Dustil. Sometimes the histories are true."

_XXX_

_Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1, Senate floor footage._

_Reporter Umani: "Before you go, one last question. Can you tell us, Rear Admiral Cein, what the Fleet has decided to do regarding Captain Carth Onasi?"_

_Rear Admiral Cein: "He's involved with a known traitor to the state, citizen. We're very concerned."_

_Reporter Umani: "Do you have any other comment to make at this time?"_

_Rear Admiral Cein: "No."_

_XXX_

_Polla Organa_

"Another call coming through on the comm." Seiran looked exhausted. They'd already heard from half the town. They'd heard everything, from condolences to congratulations. And the questions. Polla thought she'd go insane.

"_What do you think she's doing? Do you think she's really a prisoner of the Mandalorians?"_

_As if I have a clue what the Dark Lord of the Sith thinks about. Frack. Frell. Bloody hell._

At least Junior was sleeping through the chaos. They'd dragged his crib out into the main living room. They didn't talk about it, but they'd set up the house with a siege mentality in mind. Sei had cancelled his work plans for the week, and Polla had programmed their utility droid to cook everything in the fridger. They'd have enough food for an army soon.

"I'm going to set up the perimeter mines," her husband said darkly, dimming the volume on the ever-present parade of commentary and more commentary streaming from the holodvid.

"No, don't leave me!" That came out way too helpless and ineffectual. But Polla couldn't help herself. She was scared shitless.

The comm chimed again. They both looked at it and looked away.

"My head hurts," her husband muttered.

"I'll get it." Polla got up and fiddled with the dials to cut out the visual. The Deralian local news had already called once. It was a good thing Da had some friends at the station or they'd be on the doorstep now. They seemed willing to believe her when she'd denied everything. That was how Deralia was.

_Even when we all know the iyika-kabat is in the living room, we don't talk about the iyika-kabat in the living room. Not to the media._

It was Ma on the comm.

"About time you called," Polla said crossly. "I've heard from everyone else named Organa on the damn continent." Which was to say, half the continent.

Molla Organa looked injured. Polla switched on the two-way visuals so she could glare back.

"Your father and Mita and I were deciding what to do, dear. And I did try and call earlier. The circuits have been jammed."

"I was thinking maybe we should all move," Polla suggested. "I hear Freina's a lovely place. No tech to speak of, and ships only dock once a year but . . ."

"Oh, Pollie, really. Don't be so dramatic." Her mother rolled her eyes. "What I need to know is, are you getting her something or should we sign your names on our card?"

"Getting . . . _who _. . . what — something?" That sinking sensation again. If her stomach fell any lower it would be around her ankles. Polla wasn't sure what other reaction she'd expected. Ma was predictable. And Ma loved a good wedding.

"Revan and her husbands of course!" Her mother looked taken aback at the question. _Yeah, right._

"She's . . . I don't know, a prisoner or something? She's on Coruscant? She has no idea who you are?" Polla was pissed. She wondered if she pulled the commlink out of its chassis now, if Seiran could manage to fix it later. _We'll need it. For emergencies. For the baby._

"Pollie, dear! _Of course_ she knows who we are! She's you, after all! The poor child, getting married like that all alone, with no family around her . . . I don't know how Mandalorians, or Coruscantis marry but Revan's Deralian. She must be feeling so lost right now, and so alone." A calculating gleam was in Ma's eye now. Polla groaned. She knew that gleam. "I've ordered three eridu robes, you know the ones . . . but I got them in black. I really wasn't sure...the red we sent you and Seiran . . . her coloring . . .it just wouldn't work. And black is good. It goes with everything."

"Black. You ordered robes in black. Three of them." Matricide really wasn't a crime, if you could prove just cause. Polla wondered if this counted. "Black's great, Ma. Perfect. Just the sort of thing for a Lord of the Sith."

"Oh honey, she's not _really . . ."_

"You are _not _signing our names to any damn card. Do you hear me? And don't mention us. Don't you dare!"

Her mother ignored her, as she ignored most things that she didn't find interesting. "You'll have to get her something yourself then, dear. Oh, and your Uncle Boon called. You remember Uncle Boon. Did you know he was transferred to Coruscant? He's done quite well in politics."

"I found out yeah, when I called Aunt Jhone about the present for Seiran," Polla said. _Great. Uncle Boon's on Coruscant. That's nice. I wonder if he'll send her Revan a book of Aldaraanian love poetry too. After all, we must like the same things. _She shivered.

"He was actually _at_ the party and he saw the whole thing," her mother continued, oblivious. "He's working for the Aldaraanian senator now. You know, the one who gambles."

"Did he mention me?"

"Of course not dear, this isn't about you. This is Revan's day. Shouldn't you be happy for her?"

_This is Revan's day. Shouldn't you be happy for her? _There were so many things wrong with that—Polla couldn't manage to say anything at all.

Mercifully, Seiran stepped in. "We'll send her something nice, Ma. But you have to excuse us now. Polla's exhausted, and we finally got Junior to sleep."

"I want my grandson to have a real name," Ma began, suddenly veering off on her other new favorite tangent.

"We're working on that." Her husband's voice was so quiet and assured, Polla could have kissed him. Oh hell. She did kiss him.

"You know, the name Revan works for a boy or a gir—" Polla cut the commlink with a slap of her hand on the dash.

"We're not getting her anything," she muttered.

"Of course not." Seiran took her in his arms, and she curled against him, trying to unwind.

"She's not me," Polla whispered, against his chest. His hands played with her topknot.

"She's not you," he agreed, sliding a hand down to her chin and lifting it, so that they eyes met. "You're much cuter." His mouth curved in a smile.

"_Pollie, put the kettle on,_

_Pollie, put the kettle on,_

_Pollie, put the kettle on,_

_We'll all have tea."_

Despite herself, Polla giggled. She joined in, singing the nonsense words softly. In his crib, Junior sighed a little. A sweet baby sigh.

"_Serian takes it off again,_

_Seiran takes it off again,_

_Seiran takes it off again,_

_They've all gone away."_

"I'm not her," Polla repeated. "I'm cuter. And younger."

"And younger, and more talented."

"And luckier," Polla added, hoping that it was true.

"And luckier," Seiran agreed, kissing her forehead softly.

"_Blow the fire and make the toast,_

_Put the muffins on to roast,_

_Blow the fire and make the toast,_

_We'll all have tea."_

XXX

_Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1, Senate floor footage._

_Reporter: "Do you think she's brainwashed him?"_

_Psychdroid PS120: "Carth Onasi is a very confused man. It's been no secret in the Fleet that he hasn't been the same since the Star Forge. Whatever evil he faced there left its scars."_

_Reporter: "There was a rumor that he was looking at a promotion to Admiral soon. Do you think this changes things?"_

_Psychdroid PS120: "Of course it changes things. Even ignoring the galactic implications, one has to wonder at the loyalty of a man who would switch sides so easily."_

XXX

_Canderous Ordo_

He sat down on the chair, heavily, joints creaking as they always did.

The Wookiee groaned softly at them from the bed.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Revan," Canderous said.

She laughed sharply. "What else could I have done?"

Republic had a bad expression on his face, like clouds gathering over the plains. He'd been very quiet when they explained everything — well, almost everything — to him. Too quiet.

"I think General Jiya Sand at least suspects you have some tie to Lin. If he goes to the Fleet with that information . . . or if D'Reev does . . . nine hells, even letting them know of your existence among us before the Senate vote . . ."

"Marrying me off to Ordo may throw them off the scent, we don't need long."

"Ordo is still a Mandalorian clan," Canderous pointed out. "Why would the Senate recognize any Mandalorian clanknowing you're part of the package?"

Revan frowned. "We considered the possibility of exposure before," she reminded him. "It won't matter. I'm in the open now and they'll have to deal with me. And the Senate will recognize Mandalorian sovereignty because _D'Reev _will want them to. It's in his best interest."

"And the others? So you think they'll recognize Lin as the Mandalore?"

"In the hopes of seeing me ruined? I'm counting on it."

This kind of battle was like no war he had ever fought. Canderous really wasn't sure what advice to give. "We should evacuate the embassy," he suggested finally. "All non-essential personnel. The children. Some of the women." _My children. My wives, if I can get them to leave._

Revan bit her lip and nodded. "I'm sorry, Cand," she whispered.

"I am happy for you all," Zaalbar growled from the bed. He spoke slowly, so even a grizzled old warrior could understand his words.

"Happy . . ." Carth echoed. His hand picked at the scab on his cheek.

Canderous sighed again, and looked at the pilot. "It's only a legal fiction," he said, trying to make his voice gentle. Hard to know what barbarians thought about these things, but the pilot was his friend. "However this plays out, it's you she — "

"Canderous." Carth's voice was hard, and the muscles in his jaw twitched. There were lines in his face that hadn't been there a few weeks ago. Faint gray at his temples too. _He looks as bad as I feel. _"Zaalbar. Excuse us. I need to talk to Revan. Alone."

Canderous got to his feet heavily. "Of course." He searched for something to say, and couldn't find anything appropriate. Carth didn't look like he would respond well to a warrior's handclasp at the moment. "You — you should go to her quarters," he muttered. "If Gwen or Aemelie try and rope you into any ceremonies, tell them you're invoking your right as Headwoman of Lin to spend some time with your husband. Alone. They'll respect it, if you put it to them correctly."

"That's probably more prudent than a Force-push across the room and out a window," Revan said. She looked at him, and then looked away. "Thanks, Cand."

"I'll go see if I can start the evacuations," he replied, snapping his helm back into place.

XXX

_Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1, Senate floor footage._

_Galactic Chancellor C'tek Nal'Gahar: "Sentients of the Republic, six years ago a company of Jedi Knights led by Revan Starfire joined our fight against the Mandalorian threat. Two years later, those same Knights began a war that nearly ripped our civilization apart. Today, we must look to the Mandalorians that started this all for justice."_

"_Seven months ago, we mourned the loss of the heroes of the Star Forge. The Sith threat was beaten back, but at a great cost. Seven months ago we mourned Revan Starfire and the crew of the _Ebon Hawk_ as the lost heroes of our age. But they are no longer lost."_

"_I would ask you, therefore, to think of the Revan's life as a scale. Does the good she did outweigh the bad? Is it possible to measure the worlds she saved against the ones that she destroyed?"_

XXX

_Revan_

She led him to the small suite of rooms the Mandalorians had given her and closed the door. They were alone. She let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding before. Carth was standing there looking at her. There were a million thoughts in his eyes and she couldn't read any of them.

"Carth?" Revan said. She reached for his hand but he pulled it away.

"This — this wasn't what I expected."

Revan took a deep breath. "It's a legality, Mandalorian law — to give you some protection — to — to stop them from trying to take you away from me again."

"We're married? Really married?" He took a step back from her and Revan's heart sunk. Carth shook his head, rubbing the cut on his cheek. _He doesn't understand that yet._ "No, that isn't what I meant. You — you're not what I expected."

"What did they do to you?" She reached for his mind but she couldn't read it. Some Force-users could read the Force-blind — _Malak always could _— but it had never been one of her talents. All Revan could sense was the dark swirl of his emotions, confused and black. Hate was still there too, hate for her. It felt like she was prying and she pulled back, ashamed.

Carth shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "I feel like . . . people have been trying to tell me something for so long . . . and I—I couldn't hear them. Dustil. Rew. Yuthura . . . even your own son. They kept trying to tell me something was wrong — but all I could see was you." His voice hesitated. "Stopping you, Revan. And now you say D'Reev did this? To me?"

She nodded hesitantly. "Dustil — he got back okay, the other night?"

It was the wrong thing to say, the glare in his eyes burned. "I had to bail him out of jail, he wouldn't talk to me about what happened . . . did you see him, Revan? Dustil's . . . changed. Did you see him?" The rest lay unspoken. _Did you do something to him?_

"No — I — I went and saw you. Outside your building, the girl in pink. Y-you — one of the others asked you for an autoprint. I followed you . . ."

"I saw your son, he told me I loved you." His expression was empty. "Rew told me that too."

_You've seen my son. You talk to my son. You know my son_. Revan bit her lip. "Dustil . . ." her voice trailed off and she wasn't sure how to say it. "Mekel and Dustil. They're — linked somehow. "

"A Force bond," Carth said.

Revan nodded.

"Like you and Bastila?"

"I don't know. I —"

"Who fell, Revan, you or Bastila? When you went into the Temple that day, you were yourself, you were Polla, you were the woman I loved and then when you came out — you changed."

"Both of us fell," she said. She looked at the ground, wishing the horrible guilt and regret would vanish into it.

"But you shared her dreams, Malak tortured her and you had to feel it. It wasn't your fault really — somehow. That link made you that way, changed you." He spoke with the urgency of a man desperate to believe.

"No." _It would be too easy to just believe that. But what I felt in Bastila's mind wasn't that simple. Her feelings. Mine. Malak . . ._ Revan took a deep breath. "Carth, when I thought I was Polla Organa, I thought I knew how to pilot a ship, man a gunner turrent, race a swoop bike, and drink an entire bottle of Tatooine wine. But when I tried to do those things . . ."

"You were terrible at them." Carth tried to laugh, but it came out choked. He raised a hand to her cheek, pulled her closer. She felt his heartbeat through the horrible sequined dress uniform. His lips pressed against her forehead. Almost a kiss. His cheeks were smooth and that seemed wrong somehow. He'd shaved, and he smelled like something expensive and citrus, not as she remembered.

"The things that Revan Starfire D'Reev knew how to do came easily to me." She made her voice dead again, felt him flinch at the inclusion of D'Reev in her name. "So easily, I stopped wondering why I knew how to use a lightsaber, why I could do things with the Force no master ever taught me, why I knew languages... And then when I learned I — I didn't want to be her, but I was her. I _am_ her. I-I don't remember half of what she was, but I — I think like her, I fight like her, I —"

His head was buried in her hair and his arms tightened around her_. Now is the part where you're supposed to say you love me, love me as I am, Carth._

But he said nothing. The enormity of what she'd done, what she'd risked hit her like a blow. _The Fleet will know, everyone will know. They could refuse Oerin's claim, they could dissolve this diplomatic immunity in a heartbeat and clap me in chains. I could never see my son, D'Reev could have me killed tomorrow, I might never see Malachor, I just married Carth and he doesn't even understand it . . ._

"Carth — " she began, hesitating.

"Don't," he said. He pulled her closer and his lips were on hers. There was a galaxy of desperation in his kiss, and she answered it. The rest of the world dimmed to a faint whisper. Carth pulled her closer, and Revan pressed against him. The both fell awkwardly against the narrow bed. The mattress was filled with sand and it was lumpy and cool under their weight. His hands tugged at her blouse, and she pulled him closer, scrabbling at the buttons of his jacket. Her breath was as fast as his.

"Seeing you again," he murmured, pressing her closer. His lips nuzzled her neck, tracing a line across her collarbone while his hands moved lower. Underneath the strange cologne he smelled like himself and she ran her fingers through his brutally-cropped hair, marveling again at its softness. Her hand traced a line down his neck and he shuddered. "This," he said huskily. "Is —what — matters."

Rationality fled, as they rolled over. The mattress was narrow and lumpy and cold but it didn't really matter. Nothing did.

XXX

_Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1, Senate floor footage._

_Galactic Chancellor C'tek Nal'Gahar: "I assure you with every confidence that all arms of the government, and every voice that holds a fact in this case will be considered before any decision is made. I plead for your patience while we make a full investigation."_

"_Why Revan has returned, I do not know. That and many questions must be answered before we make the final decisions. Decisions that may yet affect us all. Please let your elected officials weigh this situation very carefully . . . and above all — don't panic."_

XXX

Carth Onasi

Afterwards, she slept and he watched her. There was a pile of weapons and clothing discarded carelessly in one corner of the room. Half-hidden underneath a scrap of pink jumpsuit he found familiar blasters fastened on an unfamiliar belt. Carth slipped one out of the holster and sat on the floor staring at it, listening to the soft sounds she made in her sleep.

Almost nightmares, as familiar as the scent of her skin and the arch of her brows.

_Promise me._

"You told me once that you'd let me decide if you deserved to live, Revan," he said out loud.

She murmured in her sleep at the sound of his voice, but did not wake. Carth closed his eyes.

"I don't want to make that kind of decision."

_We're married. We'll go away somewhere with Dustil and Korrie. We'll live happily ever after._

He tried to believe in that. He had to believe in that. It was the best of all possible alternatives. He held the blaster in his hands, weighing the worst one last time. Almost an hour passed before he noticed the blaster wasn't even charged.

Carth glanced at the bed. Her green eyes were half-open, watching him.

"How long have you been awake, beautiful?" he asked her softly.

"I don't know," she murmured. Her eyes didn't leave his face.

"In the morning, we have to find Dustil," Carth said. _Find Dustil. Rescue Korrie. Run away somewhere. _If he thought of it as a plan perhaps it would become one. His hand went to his cheek nervously and picked at the scab there. "We're really married?"

"By Mandalorian law," Revan said. "I — I had a dream that I married you on Deralia."

"I wanted to marry you on Telos before —" Carth stopped talking. The rest of the sentence hung between them anyways. _Before I knew what you were._

She rolled over, turned away from him, faced the wall. "Come back to bed, Carth. Please."

"Polla, I —"

"Revan." Her bare shoulders were stiff. He could see the lines of tension etched in the curve of her back. Her skin was beautiful, the color of milk, dappled with gold freckles here and there, like constellations of stars. "Don't call me Polla, anymore, Carth. Please. Ever."

_You love the woman, I think you'd at least remember her name. _

He went to her, brushed his lips gently at the place where her cropped hair met the base of her neck. She shivered. He wrapped his arms around her. "Can't you be both?" he asked. _I think of you as both. I love you as both. Even when I can't forgive the part of you that's Revan. Even then, I still love you._

"No. I wish I could. But I can't." Her voice was hard. "Revan has a son. Revan has Malachor. Polla . . . is nothing. She doesn't even exist."

"But she does —," It was the wrong thing to say. She pulled away from him. He let her go.

"Maybe," Revan said quietly. "But she's not me."

XXX

A/N : Thanks again, Pris for giving it a readand sorry ether, I got too ancey to wait. Am working on 23, and so much of it pivots on 21/22...and for some odd reason, seeing it on the internet makes it easier to pick out the plot points (Okay, that makes no sense, but is true.)

Pris: I agree about Dustil, on the other hand, I reserve the right to cite the confused kid clause for his motivation...um...it's either that or I'm really looking forward to getting to his next pov point...which, for obvious reasons, should be a doozey.

Winterfox: I suspect you will kill me (or worse, mock me) for the amount of strum and drang Revan (& Co.)do actually go through, but I do try to have her do stuff, in between bouts of sorrow and regret. This Jedi Council...is a bit different than the traditionalI'm winding up to that next.

Rose: Re: suggestion of Bastila/Malakeh...well, I kinda hinted a crush, but no, mainly that's a big revelation. But whether or not it's really Bastila's crush, or thewhacky Force bond...well...things, they do get confused.

Fiera: Yep, the whole Ordo thing was a ruse, since if she was known to be Lin...the Senate wouldn't recognize Lin. (Yes, this pivots on an extremely sketchy set of Coruscanti laws that I haven't really gone into, but..uh...) It's not supposed to be a good plan. And Malak...being a good guy, wellyou know, he has his issues.

Tim: Hope I can continue to manage Carth and Revan reuinion. It's a fine line, giving some issues atm.

Next up: What _are_ the Jedi really thinking? More random cameos from TSL, and Mandalorians on the Senate floor. Also, have you ever wondered about HK's time with that Senator? I know I have...join us next for insights into "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous Coruscanti Elite"...


	23. Glass Houses

_Disclaimer: Lucas Arts, Bioware, Obsidian and Dark Horse may all be spinning in their sleep. None of this is their fault. This is more PG-13 than usual, for at least innuendo. More at end. This is the version edited for grammar and stuff, ty Ether and Rose (and this is the one without my strange compare document bug 4/30/05.)_

**_XXX_**

**Chapter 23 / Glass Houses**

**XXX**

_Carth Onasi_

"_I'm fine, Father."_ Dustil's voice was flat, the tone oddly cold and clipped. _"Senator D'Reev wanted me to let you know that I'm fine. I'm going to stay with him for a while, until all of this dies down."_ His son glanced at something to the right of him. Whatever it was, it wasn't in the viewscreen.

_D'Reev himself,_ Carth thought bitterly, _watching my son. The bastard has my son._

"_I-I'm happy for you — for both of you." _Dustil's lips tightened and he put his head back against the white wall, as if leaning on it for support. _"I-I'm fine here, we're . . . all fine here. But she doesn't understand — she doesn't know the risks. This isn't going to work. What she doesn't know puts him in danger . . ." _He closed his eyes. Under the bright lights, his skin was very pale. _"Why didn't you just listen to me, why couldn't you just listen?" _

From offscreen came a dark chuckle and the old man walked into view. Behind him Dustil's jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists. Carth wasn't sure if he'd imagined it, the first time he'd watched the tape. This was the tenth time. Now he was sure. The glimmer in his son's eyes, just for a second and then gone. Hatred so pure it made his heart sink, even as part of him cheered it on.

_You're right to hate him, son. He trapped you just like he trapped me. He tricked me. He made me believe . . . _Carth hit the table in front of him again with his fist. Beside him, on the couch, Revan flinched. _And that's the worst thing, isn't it? All of those things he made me believe about her . . . _

_They were mostly all true. They were nothing I didn't already know._

In front of them the holochip continued to play its recorded message. Senator Malachi D'Reev opened his mouth and more kinrath venom dripped out.

"_I can threaten her myself, Dustil. I don't need some half-grown Telosian to do it. Revan, whatever you think you know; it won't be enough. Can you measure your ridiculous quest for justice against the life of a son? Make no mistake. _His_ life is in danger now. Thanks to you. Go to the Jedi and take what they offer; or he will suffer. The innocent always do. I can see the shape of the game you play, Revan. I taught you the rules. And you never could win against me. Even when you knew yourself."_

"_I wish you'd listened,"_ Dustil whispered from behind the old man_. "I really wish you'd —"_

Whatever else was said, the tape cut out. Carth imagined the rest of his son's words like he'd done the last ten times, the last hundred times in his mind, pacing around the room that felt like a cage, in the Mandalorian apartments that felt like a prison. The guilt tore at him again. _I wish I'd listened too, Dustil. To whatever it was that you wanted to say. We _are _in a prison. The Fleet and CoruSec guards outside are practically standing room. Snipers on the neighboring buildings. Every communication monitored. We've been like this for two days now. Two days now and all I can do is think, and pace, and curse. Dustil, please be okay, son. Somehow I'll get you out of this, somehow . . . _

She stirred beside him. Carth turned to see her face. His — _wife, my wife. My wife, my life, my knife — _had her knees to her chest and her head rested on them. She blinked hard.

"Damn him to hell," Revan said. "It's not a bluff. Whatever it is, it's not a bluff."

She didn't have to say that it wasn't Dustil's life that was in danger. Or not just Dustil's. They'd known that when they first watched the recording yesterday.

Carth pulled her closer. His lips brushed the bright silk of her hair. She stiffened, then he could feel her deliberately relax — forcing herself to relax.

"Whatever it is, we'll face it together."

"You're holding me so tight that I can't breathe," Revan said. She shook her head slowly. "Carth — you could — you could just go. Leave. Get out of here."

He turned her head to face his. "Pol — beautiful, he has my _son_. He manipulated me. The things I said about you on the vids — somehow he made me think them. And now he has my son. The bastard has Dustil." His voice sounded calm and reasonable in his own ears, which was strange, because he didn't feel either.

"The things you said on the vids about me were true. Some of them." She took a deep breath. "Most of them."

She didn't need to say that. She needed to _stop_ saying that. "What, that you're the Dark Lord of the Sith? Gathering a Fleet to destroy the Republic again? What you did . . . what you were — is done. Gone. The dead are _dead — _Revan. Maybe Zaalbar's right." He and the Wookiee had had a very long talk. "Maybe . . . the past is just over and that's all there is. You gave me something to live for. You told me you have something to live for. We both do, we have them: Dustil and Korrie. They need us now more than ever. And if I left . . . what are the odds that he'd try and use me against you again?"

"According to Mission, a rather large number to one." Her voice was remote. That cold voice that made chills run up his spine.

"You asked it — _her_." It wasn't Mission. She persisted in treating it like Mission and it wasn't. They'd had another argument about that, and finally he'd given up.

"I have to account for every possibility." Her face was frozen. "But you have a choice — you could — you could escape. Go somewhere, far away. Telos." She took a deep breath. "Deralia."

He never should have told her about that call to Manaan. About calling Deralian directory assistance. About wondering which woman it was that he loved. _Just swallow your foot entirely next time, Onasi. Just jump off the top of this building. Just run out in the street outside waving a blaster and let the snipers shoot you down._

"And my son? We're going to go somewhere together, Revan. All of us." _Call her Revan. Call her Revan because she wants you to. _He pulled her onto his lap. Her limbs were as stiff as a doll's. "_All _of us. I promise." Carth tilted her face towards his again and kissed her lips.

"I've followed you across the galaxy, seen you pull off things that no one — _no one else_ could have done. We'll do this too. We'll muddle through and we'll win." He kissed her again. "Whoever you are, beautiful, you always win. The name's — the name's not important." He smiled slightly. "Anyways, it's Onasi. Coppertop Onasi. Green-eyes. Freckle-face Onasi."

"Fett Revan Starfire D'Reev Lin Ordo Onasi," she murmured. Her lips curved up a little. Her eyes stared into his. "Force, I missed you, Carth."

His hands smoothed her hair back from her brow. "Onasi's the important part and don't forget it. The rest is just window-dressing." It was a smile on her face. A wan, scared one, but a smile nonetheless.

"Beautiful," he said huskily, kissing her harder. "Silk. Gorgeous. Cute-as-a-gizka."

"A gizka?" She wrinkled her nose.

He kissed it too. "My wife. Freckles." He traced the one on her ankle, sliding up to the one on her thigh.

"Flyboy," she whispered back, kissing his neck. "Captain Onasi. _Admiral _Handsomest-pilot-in-the-galaxy. Brown eyes. Beautiful. Amazing . . . " She lowered her voice and added something else in a language he couldn't follow. Carth blushed. "Did you just say what I thought you said?"

"In Mandalorian," she purred, "it's a compliment if they're large enough to make the comparison. Inkata. Bak'ta. Hsyimion . . . " she continued her advance, whispering more sweet nothings in languages he could only guess at.

His hands tangled in her hair. It was just long enough to tangle now. Barely. "Firetop. Red. Revvikins."

Her hands stopped moving. "What," Carth murmured playfully. "You don't like Revvikins?"

"Don't call me Red. Ever." She buried her face in his chest. She tried to laugh. "Revvikins is awful — yeah, but — but that's better than — just don't. Please."

"Whatever you say." He pulled her up to kiss him again. "Freckles. Honey. Gorgeous Onasi. My Hothan princess. Coruscanti babe. My Revan. My darling. My wife."

"I love you," she whispered.

Carth kissed her again. "I love you too. Revan, we'll get both of them. Both of them back."

"I want to see Malachi burn in every nine of the Corellian hells," she murmured. "I want to see him broken."

XXX

_Revan _

_It's beautiful._

The ceiling soared above them, domed to meet the sky, the milky light filtering down through ferracrystal prisms like a tiny million smiles. The great expanse was circular, and lined with the floating boxes of the representatives from hundreds of worlds. More than a thousand sentient races; each one with its own color and life and culture. The beauty of it took her breath away and somewhere inside her head, a Deralian farmgirl stammered for something to say.

"Wow."

Carth squeezed her hand. "Wow? You're going to have to give a better speech than that if you want this to work . . . "

The robed Mandalorian piloting their gravmag lifter glanced back. They'd soared out of the petitioner's gate, and were slowly circling towards the Senate floor. The subtle whine of their craft's magnetic engines was the only sound in the vast expanse.

Below them on the Senate floor was the petitioner's ledge: a spiraling stair wound around a conical edifice to the top platform, but the steps were mostly for show. _One step for each world of the Republic, at least it was three hundred years ago, when it was built. _Instead of climbing up the steps, they, like all sentients come to plead a case before the Galactic Senate, descended in their gravlift on a bed of soft air.

Revan stepped carefully. Having her hands chained was awkward, and it wouldn't do to trip. The others moved around her. Gwenarius' son gurgled gently in his father's arms and Canderous nodded. That nod said a thousand words. Or at least three. _It's going well._

Oerin Lin stepped into the speaker's circle and the light from above outlined his golden robes, and the yellow of his hair.

"_Noble sentients of the galaxy, I come to plead for my people _. . ." he began.

It was a really bad time for her mind to wander, but all Revan could do was look up, transfixed at the ringing rows of sentients that surrounded them, all bathed in the haze of light dappled down from above. _It's beautiful. _Somewhere above, in those rows of floating seats was her son. She narrowed her eyes, searching for him. Near the top of the room hung the five banners of the Coruscanti ruling aristocracy: Racharn, Phin, Makeon, Qel-Ria and D'Reev. She looked for the black and red, barely discernable from such a vast distance.

The last words of Oerin's speech echoed through the chamber. _"How can you measure the value of one life against a thousand? We must be prepared to make any sacrifice to save the lives of all sentients. And now, when the Mandalorians need your sacrifice, your leaders preach caution and temper their indecision with empty platitudes. The Mandalorian plight is real . . ."_

At first, the applause was only scattered. But it grew thunderous, like rain on the Derran plateaus. Heavy, driving, decisive.

Galactic Chancellor C'tek Nal'Gahar hardly need to tabulate the vote on his receiving screen.

The vote was unanimous.

"By the power vested in me by Senate and Fleet, and with the approval of the Jedi Council, the Coruscant Galactic Senate recognizes Mandalorian sovereignty. A people, who have reached the age of reason and selected their own governance, deserve the same rights and privileges we accord to any protectorate system. We recognize the Fett Lin Mandalore as titular head of his people. We offer him the same hand of friendship given to all colony worlds. If there are any that object to this status, let them speak now, or forever hold their peace."

"I object!" Beaming, the Headwoman of Rialis stepped forward. "Oerin Lin cannot lead us — yet. He has not yet completed the tasks that turn a Mandalorian boy into a man. He is still, sadly, unblooded in stars."

Revan sighed with relief. _She remembered her lines . . . _Carth squeezed her hand, encouragingly. _We'll pull this off yet,_ she thought.

The Chancellor frowned. "Is there some other member of Clan Lin who can act as regent for Oerin until such a time as he comes of age?"

From the line of Coruscanti Senator's boxes high above, a bright light flashed in code. House D'Reev requested permission to speak.

"It's true that I cannot claim any blood kinship with Clan Lin through my own line," Malachi D'Reev's voice hissed over the speakers. "But my late son's wife has claim to Lin, and therefore, so does my heir. Malachor D'Reev."

The Galactic Chancellor's normally healthy red chitin paled to a pinkish orange. His beak chattered. "And who is this heir's mother?" he asked formally. The tension in his voice made it all too clear that it was a rhetorical question.

"Revan Starfire D'Reev Lin Ordo Onasi," the old man replied. His voice was full of hate. On the holoscreens above them her own face; head bowed, hands in chains, was projected ten meters high. The overlight drones projected a spotlight on her. It was blinding.

"Now," Carth murmured in her ear. He shoved her forward gently.

The towering levels of senators gasped in a collective sigh.

"Noble sentients of the galaxy . . ." Revan knelt on the blue penitent's circle and raised her head addressing the room. "I saved you in the Mandalorian wars, and now I come before you, as a humble penitent representing the interests of a shattered people." The light blinded her but she kept her voice steady. "By Mandalorian law I am the Fett Mandalore, and by Coruscanti law I lay challenge to Malachi D'Reev. The old Senator has served you well, but he has served too long. I am his rightful heir, through my late husband Malak's claim. I am the rightful guardian to our son."

The Galactic Chancellor bobbed on his lift above her, tentacles waving slightly in agitation.

"What you say is the truth," he clicked, slowly. "By Coruscanti law . . . but . . ."

"— and I accept the judgment of Coruscanti law. Let my fellow Senators judge me. If they find me lacking, I will fail." Above on the holoscreen the five representatives of the Coruscant Senate houses flashed for a moment, all of them looking down at her.

_After all, what's the worst they can do? I lived through the Star Forge._

"I object," hissed Malachi D'Reev. "I will act as regent for Malachor — for Malachor and the Fett Lin," he added hastily. "Revan Starfire D'Reev is an enemy of the Republic."

"Overruled," said one of the other Coruscant Senators. "The other four houses are in agreement. We accept the challenge. Revan Starfire D'Reev is one of our own, and by such laws we will measure her."

"Normally, we would put this matter to planetary vote. But in this special case, let's skip the formalities. Let the games begin." The Galactic Chancellor raised a claw, formally sketching his scepter through the air. Revan bowed her head. "Release the child to his rightful guardian."

"Let the games begin," Revan echoed the formal phrase, looking up out of the corners of her eyes at the lift that descended from the highest heights. On it, a red-haired child, tall for his age, and standing beside him, an older boy, almost a man, with dark hair and Carth's face. _I did it. I've won and we didn't even have to wait for the planetary votes, didn't need to lobby . . . it was this easy . . .so easy . . ._

"You did it, Mother!" Malachor leaned on the rail of the lift, reaching out towards her as they came closer. High in their boxes, tiers of sentient representatives cheered.

_I did it, I've won. Now, we grab our sons and get out of here —_

Suddenly there was a grating noise that broke through the applause like a blade against transparisteel. The gates on the far end of the Senate floor creaked open. Rank and file, lines of Mandalorian warriors filed in, resplendent. Thousands of them in their battle armor.

_An army of them_.

The Galactic Chancellor turned his head, sharply. "What — ? No!" he cried out. "We are betrayed!"

A low dark chuckle sounded, and a black shadow clad in a heavy cloak rose up from his gravlift. Its gloved hand slid around his neck, caressed his beak. "Silence . . ." hissed a woman's voice. "All of you, silence . . ."

Revan stumbled in shock, scrambling to her feet. Her Mandalorian escort were all smiling. Some had swords drawn. Others had rifles. The Force surrounded the room, enveloping the onlookers within in its web of stasis. All voices were stilled.

The black-cloaked figure held the Galactic Chancellor of the Republic in by his tentacles, jerking his head back. "Talk when I say talk," it hissed. "Bow when I say bow. Dance when I say dance . . ." There was the sound of ripping flesh, crack of chitin breaking and the figure stepped back, holding out its hand. The Chancellor dangled boneless at the end of an arm.

"No," Revan whispered. Carth stepped forward touched, touching her arm tentatively.

"Don't do this, love."

"No!" Her cry echoed across the vast chamber. Above them, the gravlift carrying Dustil and Malachor paused and began to retreat. Her son's mouth opened in surprise.

_This can't be happening. This isn't real, this isn't — _

_Real._

The dark puppeteer threw back her hood, lifted up the metal mask. Her grav lift drifted closer.

"No," Revan whispered again. She shook her head. "This is wrong, this isn't how it should be. You shouldn't _be_ here!"

"Were you expecting someone else?" said Bastila Shan. Her pink lips curved in a knowing smile. The Chancellor twitched at the end of her hand, green ichor dripping from the terrible hole in his carapace. "Perhaps someone . . . taller? She held out her other hand, black-gloved, fingers curved in a formal Coruscanti invitation. "Join with me and we shall rule the galaxy."

With an expression of distaste, Bastila dropped the Galactic Chancellor. His body crumpled to the floor of the lift.

"This is a dream . . ."

"Slow today, are we?" Bastila hovered above her on the gravlift, hand still outstretched.

"_No!"_

Revan turned her head. Canderous, Gwen, the headwomen and all the other Mandalorians were gone. Carth stood alone on the platform, reaching for her. "I can't let you do this. I can't let you fall again . . ." he whispered. "I love you, Freckles, I love you, Red."

"Outdated. Ineffective. Puppets . . . to tradition. I have come with my Mandalorian army," Bastila addressed the frozen crowd with a cruel smirk on her face. "I have come for my apprentice. Do not think you can win against the Lords of the Sith. We have powers far beyond your comprehension . . .The Sith Empire will rise again, and we— we are its spark." She paused, frowning, and shook her head. "Revan . . ., this is absurd. Carth makes a ridiculous Nomi Sunrider."

"And you a rather unconvincing Exar Kun," Revan replied. Her throat was dry. _Dream. Only a dream. _

"There was no one else _left_ to play the part," the Jedi shrugged. Her laughter was sharp and crisp in the strange silence.

"So I'm Ulic, then."

"You seem to have set it up that way, yes." Bastila grinned at her. Her face was very pale and her blue eyes turned almost colorless. Two spots of pink burned on her cheeks. "Remember, isn't this _your_ dream?"

The sound of footsteps behind her and an old man's sad voice. "Don't do this, kid."

_No._

Revan turned.Two more players in this demented dreamscape had just ascended the steps and stood before her, lightsabers drawn. Their faces, pleading with her. _Don't do this, it's not too late._

"This is the part," Bastila's voice was lecturing and assured. "This is the part where you strike down your friends, and you and I go off together to lay waste to the galaxy. Make sure not to kill them, so they can save you later. You got that wrong the last time. Come with me, Revan." Her voice was oddly gentle. "End this farce. Come. We need to talk."

"You know, the kid's right, Bastila," Jolee cleared his throat. "You do make a terrible Exar Kun."

Bastila's haughty eyebrows rose. "I'm sorry," she said, leaning on the rail of the gravlift. Her black-gloved hands dangled over the sides, one still dripping green ichor. "Do you see anyone else around to play the role? Do you think _you'd_ be better at it?"

Jolee shrugged. "I actually knew Exar, unlike some people who weren't even twinkles in their parent's eyes."

Revan clenched her fists. The chains binding her hands broke. "I want to wake up now."

"Polla," Carth whispered. His voice was faint and even as she watched he vanished, shimmered out like a hologram.

"And it's always what _you_ want, isn't it?" Juhani advanced, lips pulled back in a snarl. "You haven't changed at all."

Bastila frowned at the place where Carth been. "Stang, we're short one player now."

"Well, geez, isn't it a little weird for _me_ to be Nomi? I mean, I loved Polla-Revan like a sister but don't be gross. Bastila, I think you should do it. You have the Battle Meditation and stuff . . ." Mission Vao trooped up the stairs, vibroblade in hand, bowcaster slung casually over one shoulder. She was dressed in her bright red Baragwin armor. "And then maybe I could be Exar Kun?"

Revan closed her eyes. "I'm going to wake up now."

"Oh you dumb crazy kid." A calloused hand caressed her face. Revan opened her eyes. Jolee was looking at her, sadly, his 'saber extinguished. "You dumb crazy, try-and-do-the-right-thing-and-frack-it-all-up-kid. _Think_, Padawan. What's missing from this picture? _Who's_ missing from this picture?"

"This is a dream," Revan repeated stubbornly, backing away from him.

"I told you this wouldn't work," Juhani snarled at Jolee. "She's selfish and she doesn't listen. She doesn't see. You have to just be direct and even then she won't believe you." Her furred face twisted. "Revan," she said, enunciating each word slowly and carefully as if speaking to a small child. "Malak is gone from this place. Malak is _gone from this place, do you understand?"_

Revan shook her head. "He's dead. I killed him, I killed all of you, this is just a dream, only a dream. A really bad dream — and I— I'm sorry . . . I'm so sorry . . ."

The railing was at her back. Maybe twenty meters to the floor. She could use the Force to cushion her fall . . .

"You don't have the Force," Bastila laughed. "Not while you're playing Ulic. Nomi's cut you off from it, remember?"

"Pollie, dear!" An old woman staggered up the stairs, wisps of hair straggling out of her topknot. _"There _you are,child. Were you hiding from me?" Her frame was bent and stooped. and she wore a faded blue dress, patterned with leaves. Familiar pattern, familiar dress. Familiar face so abrupt that Revan's breath came out in a sharp gasp. _This is a dream. _

"I'm sorry," Bastila's voice was arctic. "This is a private intervention. Who are you?"

The woman's wrinkled eyes widened. "Why, you're Bastila Shan! I've seen you on the vids! And of course, you remember, that one time I came up to see Polla on your Republic ship? I brought you teacakes. I'm Polla's Auntie Mita, and I've been looking everywhere for her. I should have known I'd find you on Coruscant, dear."

Jolee stepped away to give the old Deralian room and her wrinkled arms enveloped Revan in a shaky hug. "You were always going on and on about coming to Coruscant . . ."

"I want to wake up now," Revan told her. "Please." She gritted her teeth while the woman exclaimed over her hair, and kissed her softly on the cheek.

"The pilot's _very_ handsome. Polla was quite taken with him too, although she'd be loathe to admit it. Are you happy, dear? I do want you to be happy."

"Is this something from her mind like the rest?" Juhani's ears flattened back against her head.

Jolee reached out and touched the woman's shoulder tentatively, frowning. "I don't think so. Excuse me — Mita, you said your name was — are you— are you dead?"

The old woman looked puzzled. "I'm not really sure. I went to sleep . . . how long ago was that? And I don't seem to have woken up since. I heard her calling for me — I thought it was the other one at first but — oh, Junior is beautiful, he looks just like his father — and they're doing fine . . . " She frowned at Revan again. "Although you've gotten her in a terrible tether. Again. One of these days, the two of you are going to have to sit down and work this thing out."

"You don't know me," Revan whispered. "You're not my — "

The woman put a finger to Revan's lips. "Shhh, dear. You know, if I _am_ dead, I expect you to pay me proper the respect. You know what I like, don't you?" Her faded eyes twinkled. "You remember, that time we went down to the lake and picked basketfuls of them and I told you. Do you remember what I told you?"

Revan shook her head. "I'm not — you're mistaken — "

"Did the Council anticipate _this_, Bastila?" Jolee took the old woman's arm gently and tried to lead her away. She shook him off like a herran fly on a hessi.

"You have to do something about your hair. It's so untidy this way. See the Cathar's hair? She has fur, but even she manages to groom herself. I don't know what you've been thinking . . ."

"I doubt she's been thinking at all," Bastila hissed from above, leaning on the maglift's rails. "This dream sequence we just saw . . . _this _is your plan, Revan? I can see why Malak was so upset."

"You said he was gone." Revan pulled away from them all. "You're all gone. You're all dead. It's all my fault and I'm so sorry. I just want my son . . . and I'm sorry . . ."

"Kiddo, it's not like we and Malak have many chats. But he's not here. He was here and now he's not. That means he's somewhere else. And that has us concerned." Jolee waggled his lightsaber's hilt at her, gesturing. Revan stepped back more.

"This is my mind," Revan whispered to herself. "This is my mind trying to make sense of things that don't make sense. My mind trying to rationalize what I've done."

"This is _us,_ trying to get a point across through your thick bantha poo doo skull!" Mission came closer. Her lekku were twisted protectively around her neck. "Will you tell Sithboy I really did want to see him again?"

Revan turned away from her, looked out over the railing. "I'm going to wake up now. I'm going to wake up."

"When you see your sister, tell her I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to say goodbye — " Auntie Mita's voice was querulous and a little sad.

_I have to run away. I have to get _out _of here. _"This is my mind. This is a dream," Revan told them all again. Bastila's mouth curved in a smile and she shook her head. _No. _

Revan scrambled over the railing and jumped.

XXX

She woke up on the floor, tangled in the sheet she'd pulled off the bed. Carth murmured sleepily on the narrow mattress, hand reaching out for the empty space where she'd been.

_A dream. Not real. Not real._

_The dead are dead. _Zaal said so. Canderous said so. Carth said so, even when the shadows in his eyes spoke otherwise. _The dead are dead._

Revan got up slowly, wrapping herself in the sheet. The chronometer flashed on the nightside table — another three hours before dawn and everything that it would bring. _My real speech before the Senate. My fool's game. _

She went to the commlink and fit the earpiece around her head, whispering so that she wouldn't wake him. "Mission."

"Here, sis! What's the problem?"

"Did you just — did I just — " _No, that's insane. That was a dream._

"Did I just what? I'm still running schematics for the Senate and the aftermath. You do realize, even if everything goes well, D'Reev will strike hard? Probably like, before we get out of the building."

"We can handle it." _I hope. I lived through the Star Forge. I think I can handle a Coruscanti Senator._

"I've patched into the main communications link, but it wasn't easy . . . and it might not be stable. Lots of ice. Lots. Tons. And I'm still worried about blondie and the Manaan thing. I know what he says, Polla-Revan. Yeah, yeah, no one will recognize him from there — but we can't be sure of that. It'd like, be bad, if your main advocate was revealed as a former Sith wannabe-Lord, don't you think?"

"We'll handle it, somehow." There was something stuck in her throat. "Listen, Mission, can you patch in a commlink for me? One-way visual, if you can, incoming visual, text outgoing . . . untraceable. _Really_ untraceable. It's . . . important."

"Are you going to talk to Vrook about the Manaan thing? Sure, I can. Easy!"

The headpiece whirred against her cheek. "N-no, not Vrook."_ I can't deal with Vrook right now, I can't . . . _Revan shivered and closed her eyes. _This is nuts, it was a dream. _"Deralia. Derran continent. Adaston. Molla and Jasp Organa . . . Green Hills Farm."

"Um, sis?" Her computer's voice sounded concerned.

"Only do it if it's safe. Safe for them, Mission. But try. Please. An order."

"Who are they?"

"Don't ask me questions, Mission. Do it. An order — if — it's safe."

"I guess I can run it through Yavin Station . . . sure. I think Suvam's onto me, though." Mission made a noise that sounded like a laugh. "He keeps changing the codes . . . give me a millisec, okay?"

The small screen shimmered in front of her, static, resolving itself to a still image of a painfully familiar couple. They looked a little older than she remembered, but otherwise the same. The man was holding a tiny baby in his arms, and the text on the bottom of the frame said. 'Congratulations Organa! It's a boy!'

_Another cousin must've had another baby. Ma and Da always pose with them, trying to remind me that it's time to settle down and start doing that myself, but I — _

"Gods," Revan whispered, clenching her fists. The link chimed, a tinny sound in her ear, tenuous, like the thread between stars.

"Text-only? Who is this?" The woman's face was wrinkledcrumpled with sleep — _late, it's late there too, I woke them up. _"Pollie? Is this your way of calling to apologize?"

Revan tried to stop her hands from shaking. _I wanted to talk about Auntie Mita,_ _Ma, _she typed.

Molla Organa frowned at the screen, her face softening. "Oh, sweetie, I know you were upset when I called about that; but it was her time. Look, you and Seiran and Junior will come over tomorrow for the wake. I'm getting her salish roses, she was always liking those when she was alive. I guess I don't need to ask what sort of flowers you'll bring. Told you both they're no more than weeds; but Mita did always did love them."

It was hard to focus and type a response. _I had a dream about her._

Molla Organa's face softened. "Of course you did, dear. Sometimes the spirits of the dead come into our dreams. I've told you that a thousand times. And you have to get over this strop you're in. It's not good for Junior, you being this upset. You'll curdle your milk. There's no use in getting upset about things you can't fix."

It would be easier to type if her hands would stop shaking. _Goodnight, Ma._

Molla sighed. "Not going to let me see my grandson, are you? Just going off to bed again? Well fine, we'll see you all tomorrow. Goodnight, Polla. Sweet dreams. Sleep tight. Don't let — "

— _don't let the rejarik bite._

Revan cut the connection.

"Sis?" murmured Mission in her ear. "What was that about?"

"Nothing," Revan muttered. "You're sure that call can't be traced?"

"Course I'm sure! Sis — why did you call that woman, Ma?" The headpiece clucked to itself. "I ran profiles on 3,864 citizens of Deralia named Polla Organa and found nothing. Are you telling me she's real? Polla Organa's real? She's alive? This is big, sis. Really big. Major."

"I thought I did tell you. . ." Revan rubbed her temples.

"That she was a real personality, sure. Not that she was a _living_ real personality. Legally, that makes a huge difference."

"It makes no difference. Either way, she's not me!" Her voice was too loud. Behind her Carth murmured in his sleep.

"Who else knows about her? The Jedi must know . . . maybe some of the Fleet from the _Ascendant_ — I'll have to cross-check them. This is bad, sis. I can't believe you didn't mention this before."

"I — Carth knows. Canderous knows — we talked about it on the ship. The Jedi won't admit to it, Mission. Or the Fleet. Look, it doesn't matter. . ." _That little wrinkled face in Jasp Organa's arms. _Revan took a deep breath. "I think Polla, the real Polla, just had a baby. A son. We should . . . we should — " her thoughts were heavy and slow and her head ached. _Late, it's late, I need to sleep, I need to sleep and wake up and go and meet my fate and my son . . . I just want — I want. . . _

"Are you okay?" The computer's voice actually sounded concerned. "Look, it's not practical for you to fall apart right now. So don't. You can't afford this."

"Get her something. A present. It's tradition on Deralia. Gift to the mother for the birth, gift to the child, gift to the father — they like gifts there. They . . . " _The father is Seiran? She married Seiran Wen? The farmboy? Seiran dared me to race the canyon loop and I fell and I fell . . . _"A-and flowers. Flowers for Mita. Derran lilies. But only if you can do it without tracing it back to here."

"This sentiment is really coming at a bad time. You can't afford to be angsty regretful Polla-Revan now. There's too much at stake." Her computer chirped softly. It sounded disapproving.

Revan took a deep breath. "I'm fine," she said, making her voice cold. "Get them some fracking presents and some flowers for Mita. She died. And don't mention this again. Don't question me again. Do you understand?"

"Whatever you say. I'll route whatever through Yavin. Derran lilies?" The headpiece clicked. "Is that an indigenous fauna? Where am I supposed to find —"

"Find a local florist. In Adaston. Deliver them tomorrow — today, I mean. In the morning there. To Green Hills Farm." Its southwest of Adaston near — " _Near Janstak's Canyon, where I tried to fly the loop and I fell, I fell — I —_

"Get them all flowers. You got it, sis!" Mission's voice returned to its automatic chirpiness.

"No — the presents can . . . come later. The flowers . . . tomorrow." Anonymous Mission. Untraceable. Do you understand?"

"Don't teach your mother how to splice." The headpiece whirred. "What do you want me to get them?"

_What does Polla want? Sweet wine, a handsome pilot, adventure, romance, a life straight out of the holovids. Maybe a few pinches of Correllian spice —_

None of those things seemed appropriate for the mother of a newborn son.

"Stars," whispered Revan. "Maybe one of those virtual generators with maps of stars. For Polla. S-she might be missing them, stuck planetside."

"Right. Stars it is." Was it her imagination or did her computer sound distracted? "And for the husband and son?"

This was too painful. Too awful. "I don't know, you pick. Seiran was into the swoops, once. Maybe something like that." Revan pulled the headset off her face before Mission could answer.

_Mission's right. I can't afford to think about this. I will not think about this. I will not think about any of this. Ever again._

_Goodnight, Auntie Mita. Sleep tight._

XXX

_Malachi D'Reev_

The Senator knocked politely on the door of the suite, unlocking it with the keychip he had strapped to his wrist. "Are you ready?" he called out.

The Onasi boy gave a muffled grunt from within. "Almost," he called back.

The door slid open. The lad was already dressed in the formal robes that were required tradition in the Senate complex. Designed to fit most — if not quite all— sentient races, their assembly was more complicated than it looked. Malachi had expected the collar, especially, to cause the boy some trouble, but it was securely fastened around his neck already, with all ten points correctly aligned. Well, the lad was a clever mimic. He'd already picked up the upper-crust accent, a trace of it crept into his soft Telosian enunciations. Malachi wondered if the young Onasi had ever considered a career in politics. _There's more to you than I thought, Dustil._

It was always a pleasure to be pleasantly surprised. He'd expected to have to drag the lad into this kicking and screaming and possibly drugged. But so far, the boy was surprisingly tractable.

"I'm ready," Dustil said. He stood stiffly, as Malachi walked around him, making sure the robe fell correctly from his shoulders to the ground. He gritted his teeth with a spark of the old defiance. "I'm ready, _sir."_

"There's one more thing," Malachi said. He pulled the band out of his robe. It was a half-band, designed to ride against the brow on a human. At the hairline. Rather like a crown, really.

_Prince of Telos . . ._the old man chuckled at his own wit.

Dustil looked at it, his eyes narrowing. "What's that?" His voice was flat and uncurious.

"A neural disrupter." Malachi prepared himself for the argument. "I'm sure you can understand the reasons . . . you've been very sensible, Dustil, since your outburst the other day on that holorecording."

The boy only nodded and took it, fastening it to his head. Only a slight hiss of pain as the receptors sank into his skin against the bone. Then his expression turned smooth and flat again. Almost — serene. Who would have thought it, the lad would have made a good Jedi. His composure was uncanny.

"It's time, Grandfather?" Malachor had crept up behind him. The child was never far from Dustil, except when Dustil was locked away. Another pleasant surprise; there almost seemed to be a bond between them. He'd been slightly concerned of course, leaving the two of them alone the night that Revan had shown the pattern of her game; but the HK was very reliable. He'd come home to find them in the library, Malachor curled against Dustil's side on a low couch. Dustil had been reading him a story. One of Malak's old books.

_A Force-using ally could be useful for my grandson. _Malachi sighed. _And thanks to his mother's antics he will need one. Things would be easier if I'd had Hulas send her into the heart of a sun when I had the chance. But much less satisfying._

_And ultimately . . . if we do win . . . this will serve Malachor more._

He'd made arrangements. In two days, after this farce was done, his heir would be sent with Fleet escort to their Corellian estates on the Chimern moon. Security there was impregnable, and it would not be safe to leave him on Coruscant once this card was played. A common enough practice. Seconds were too valuable to risk in the Coruscanti games. He considered the Onasi boy again. He'd have to decide what to do with Dustil.

Malachi D'Reev straightened the points on his grandson's collar so that the black and red lines fell cleanly in contrast with the piping on his robe. "No outbursts will be tolerated in Chamber," he reminded them both. "The penalty is immediate stasis and expulsion."

"We understand that," Dustil muttered. He closed his eyes. He was very pale. A blue vein throbbed on his temple, bisected by the gold of the neural band.

His grandson opened his mouth to say something and Dustil shot him a look. Whatever prattle it was, it wasn't important. The old man was pleased that the Onasi boy understood.

There was a very old axiom popular among the Coruscanti elite: children should be seen and not heard. If they wish to live to be adults.

XXX

_Revan_

"Fleet escort, twenty troop carriers, three squads of fighters, and they've cut off all local traffic between here and the Chancellor's District." Mekel rattled off Mission's statistics, a slight frown on his face. It was his own face again, there was no use using holomasks now. Security would be scanning for them. "Blue says it's pretty obvious no one in charge believes the ruse. They're sending a Council ship to bring us to the Senate.Six Jedi Masters, twenty Knights as escort — she thinks. The Jedi transmissions are tricky to read . . . and — " He frowned suddenly, rubbing his head.

"Please don't have another fit now, Mekel Jin. We really don't have time for the delay." Oerin Lin walked into the room, rubbing a scorch mark on his newly reassembled armor's arm. His face knit in an annoyed frown. He tossed the silver mask to Revan. "Look at that!" he scowled. "Kex couldn't get the dents out completely. Five hundred years of sand, wind and stars and your damned Wookiee ruins my heritage with a bloody laser torch!"

Revan turned the mask over in her hands, running her fingers along the new seams. "They're on the inside, they won't show, Oerin." She turned the heavy mask over. Her reflection gazed back at her in its shining silver surface, bisected by a deep groove down the middle and the contours of its eyepieces. It was smooth and cold.

XXX

_She raised the mask to her face, felt the weight of it cold on her lips. Familiar weight now. Comforting, substantial._

"_My Lord, the _Leviathan_ is within transport range. Their shuttle is requesting permission to dock."_

"_I'm surprised he came crawling back to us," her voice was mocking and unfamiliar in her own ears. Hiss of her breath through her mask, vision narrowed, focused, sustained. Frozen. It was a lie. She wasn't surprised at all._

Be cold like Hoth. Be like ice. Be like ice or be like the rest of them.

_Their screams still echoed in her head. Death. She was seven on Telos. She was twenty-six now and Telos . . . Telos was burning again._

_It had been burning for a week._

Do you feel this, Red? Do you really feel it? _Somewhere above the planet he'd been laughing as the first bombs fell on the orbital defenses. And then planetside, he'd torn through the rubble, hunting the survivors as if it was some sport, a game preserve like his father used to take him to. Only Malak — the old Malak, not this new one that she'd made — could never stand the sight of blood or death. Back then, Malak couldn't stand to feel things die._

_All of that rage and hate and power that she'd channeled so carefully, that she'd learned to channel, to focus — _because the weak die, they die screaming don't they, Red — _and he'd wasted it. _

_Her newly appointed Lieutenant bowed his head. He was still on his knees. She tightened the belt of her robe around her waist._

"_Get up, Davad."_

_The man before her had been a Jedi once. He'd been a friend once. His dark skin had a gray cast to it now, and his eyes were as yellow as hers. Damned. He ran his tongue across his lips and looked at her. His eyes burned._

"_Fetch him. Get Malak. Bring him here." Davad's expression didn't change, but she could feel the hunger in it. One of the noblest men she'd known. Once. No different than any of them now. He inclined his head, slightly in deference, but those damned eyes were hungry and calculating._

He still defers but one slip, one misstep and he'd rip me apart. Because that is the way of the Sith, isn't it? That's the way of the Sith—

"_Should I send some message to Korriban, Master — or is your new Apprentice closer at hand?"_

_The Onderonian was taunting her. _They'll tear me apart. Malak's the only one I can trust and he — he betrayed me. There is a power in rage. Strength. Focus it, use it. Every tool has a purpose. Who said that — he said that—the old man.

Every tool has a purpose, even a broken one.

"_Bring Lord Malak here, Davad. No questions." She made her hand into a fist, and felt the Onderonian's heart clench as if it were clasped in her fingers. His mouth opened and closed, soundless. She opened her hand again and he fell to the ground, eyes rolling back in his head, as he tried to scramble to his feet._

"_Don't bother — I like watching you crawl." _It's the only thing they understand. A show of strength._ Revan turned away, not bothering to watch with her eyes when she could feel him scrabble across the duracrete floor, feel all of them, the living web of them extending outwards and the silver thread that bound her to the one who was coming._

_And somewhere Malak was laughing. She could feel him laughing . . . _

_Her husband was laughing under his metal jaw. _Did you miss me, Red? Did you? Did you? _The hope in him was choking. Hope that she'd kill him finally, and then he'd have peace._

"_Peace is a lie." Revan spoke the words to herself, but she felt him hear them, walking proudly off the transport shuttle onto the _Aleema's_ decks. His escort gave him and those that followed as wide a berth as possible. You don't taunt a rabid terentatek; you avoid it. You stand very still and hope its mad yellow gaze passes over you. She felt Malak's anticipation like a song. _One way or the other this will end, Red. Can you kill me? Do you dare? _The girl at his side giggled a nervous laugh. Sheris still giggled, sometimes. Her coppery hair fell loose past her shoulders, soft as silk. Malak put his arm around her, whispered something in her ear. Pink flush on that Hothan skin. His hand slipped under the bodice of her robe. Intimate, possessive, familiar . . . _

If you wanted to make me jealous, Mal, you should have picked someone who didn't look like me.

You flatter yourself, Red. She looks much better than you do now . . . _He squeezed the creamy skin._ I wanted to stop it. _She felt part of him begin to gibber. Again. Inside his mind he was screaming. _I wanted to stop it all before we began, before we went farther — ah, but Revan it was so fun — entertaining — let me show you, let me show you again how it feels . . . _His hand squeezed and Sheris gasped—_sweetness, like the taste of you. I remember the taste of you—I remember — every one of them had your face when I cut them down. Maybe we should burn Hoth next, yes Hoth. Yes Red, you'll like that. I promise you . . . Did you like my test? I tested Admiral Karath's loyalty, yes I did. I made him give us the codes, betray his own world, and his Republic. I've won him over to our side, just like you asked, Red. But I did it my way. And it was fun . . . sweet . . . sweetness . . .

Be like ice. Be like Hoth. Be like stones. A tool for every purpose. Even a broken one.

_Revan walked to the communications console, felt the comforting weight of the mask against her lips. Her dark-veined hand opened the comm channel to the _Imperial. _"Admiral Te'ar."_

"_Yes, Lord Revan?" On the transmit, the Admiral's faceted blue Durosian eyes were refreshingly sane. She understood now, why the leaders of Ziost had been so pleased to meet her. Except for Malak she preferred the company of non-Force users now herself. _

Malak. My champion. My conscience. The best — and the worst — of what I have made.

_Revan looked at the map again. It was a blue holographic globe as tall as she was, spinning with a thousand stars. She traced her fingers across the hyperspace points, one-by-one. Their advantage was lost. Core defenses would be on alert now. But there were other ways to shatter a false Republic. Her hand outlined a route, leaving a red line in its wake. She paused at the significant planets, tapping each once, turning the blue globes yellow. The map was a maze, and each tactic, each possibility, had a thousand outcomes. The trick was choosing the right one. The one that would win._

"_Direct the Fleet to Endar. Cloaked. Far orbit, outside of their detection screens." Endar was another insignificant world, low population, colony protectorate with even less of a strategic importimportance than Telos._

And so. The Republic will think we're just mad Sith, doing what mad Sith do.

_Endar would be a good base, close to the fuel supply lines; heavily guarded hyperspace routes that ran parallel to the main trading spires._ From there . . . _her hand traced the route again, fingers tapping lightly on the screen. _Ossus, Yu-Phaedra, Donovia . . . and then Echanis.

Another Force-resistant population. Like the Mandalorians, only rational . . . Rational enough to understand? Perhaps. The General might be a problem, but he was only one man.

_Calculating, she paced. _If I cannot take the Core by force, I will build an empire outside, weakening the Republic from within. I wanted this to be fast, but no war is ever fast enough, Mandalore taught me that. And as the Sith Empire grows we'll have another coin to use. Fear is good currency. The best. Fear buys an advantage. Fear is everything . . . and all sentients fear the Sith.

As well they should. Power with no reason, anger with no purpose. Reaction with no cause. No cause but mine.

_The door to her chambers slid open. Malak entered, arms crossed. Predictable defiance. The red-haired girl trailed behind him, nervous now. No, not just nervous. Sheris was terrified. _

"_Lord Revan," the Hothan bowed and knelt, her forehead scraping the floor. She expected to die. A part of her begged for it._

"_Making you live is punishment enough, Sheris." Underneath the mask Revan smiled, grimly. "Now get out." She raised her hand and the girl flew back into the hall, the door sliding shut behind her._

"_Ah, Red, that was cruel of you."_

_Malak loomed over her. Metallic voice through the prosthesis she'd made for him. Hairless skull, skin so pale it looked almost blue under the overlights, stippled with dark designs. They were darker than they had been. His eyes were sunk deep in his skull, and there was something black and sticky staining the tight cortosis weave of his red and black armor. Revan felt a wave of disgust. Lightsabers were clean. But Malak had deliberately wallowed in the deaths he'd made._

You come back to me drenched in their gore. You didn't even take a sonic.

Did you feel it, Red? I felt you feel it. I did it for you . . .

_In her head, the image of him and Sheris again._His large hands on that creamy Hothan skin. Flawless skin. Her red hair tangled against the weight of his thighs. Her mouth on his—

_Her voice was cold. Her breath hissed through the mask. "You weren't unfaithful to me in any way that mattered. She resembles me already. Hoth has a very singular phenotype. If you like, I could have the medics increase the likeness. A double could be useful . . ." Revan made herself consider the possibilities. _A double could be very useful._ And Sheris would comply. She had always been obedient. _

_Under the mask, her eyes closed and the images danced. _Her husband's head was thrown back, sheen of sweat on his bare chest, the expression on his face mostly gone with his mouth, but his eyes opened wide.

I never wanted to see how obedient.

"_Don't evade the real question, Red. Did you feel it?" He chuckled. "Did you feel the Telosians screaming?"_

Be like Hoth. Be like ice. Be like stones. Don't remember Aunt Yancy.

"_Do you want me to say I liked it?" Underneath the mask, her lips curled. "I've had better since you've been gone."_

_Revan turned away from him, knowing what would happen next. What he'd do._

Predictable Sith.

_Malak charged with a howl of pure rage and the hiss of his 'saber. She whirled, meeting the assault with only an upraised hand. Her other one went for the mask and pushed it back from her face, letting him see her face. Her face was worse. Of course it was. But that didn't matter. She dropped her hand to her belt and her 'saber's hilt was cool. Her red blade activated and she spun, crouching back._

_A faint look of surprise wrinkled his brow. "You're really going to fight me?" For a moment his eyes were almost sane. His large hands shook and the particle blade wavered._

"_It's what you want, isn't it, Mal? You might win. You're better than me with a 'saber." Her lip curled. "Let's play. Master and Apprentice."_

_His voice was hoarse, even through the prosthesis. "Don't taunt me like this, Revvie. Don't tempt me."_

_The use of her childhood nickname brought a lump to her throat_. Unexpected. Impractical. Bad.

Banish it. Anger can be useful. It drives away more dangerous feelings. Regret. Loss. Sadness. Use it. Use whatever you have, whatever it takes to win.

_Revan raised her hand and pushed him back, calling the lightning, watching him writhe on the floor. He made no sound, but his body convulsed. His lightsaber fell from his nerveless hand and she disengaged it with the Force before it scorched the bulkhead. She moved closer, feeling the charge build, driving it into him again and again._

_Slowly she circled, words dropping out of her mouth like stones. "Why did you bomb Telos, Malak? Do you know how much you cost me? The Sith almost fell apart because of my Apprentice's clumsy mistake. Do you know how much it will cost me to let you live? They're like a pack of drajak at my heels, snapping, watching for me to fall . . . "_

_His eyes burned yellow into hers. Like suns. "I want things to fall apart, Red."_

"_It's too late for that." She pulled the mask back over her face. The holomask felt like cold metal against her lips, amplifying her breathing to a harsh hissing sound. Her anger faded as quickly as it had come and she watched him twitch for a while longer, watched the patterns of blue light play across his skin, felt his pulse falter, and felt the Force sing through her. _Power.

_All this power to do whatever she wanted. It was sweet. Sweet as the deaths he'd caused on Telos._

_Malak laughed. "You're . . . not . . . immune." Sparks ran across the metal of his jaw. She smelled scorched skin, heard the pops of the delicate circuitry shorting out, watched his head roll back, his body arch against the floor. "You . . . not — " the voder fizzled and died and his words garbled into incoherence. Not words anymore, only gobbles of pain. There were tears in his eyes and his face twisted; eyes bulged above the prosthesis, overlaid by that pattern of blue fire. That pretty pattern, like a tapestry against his white face, the red armor, the black cape._

_His words continued in her head. _You're not immune, Red. You're different from the rest of us, but you're not immune. You're mad now, too. Did you really think any of this is rational? You were going to assault Deep Core with a hundred ships all half-manned because we don't have the forces — we were the heroes and now — what are we now?

_His pulse wavered, but he was strong. Malak had always been strong. He'd live a while longer. She reached for more power, took some of it from him. He had so much. And everything he had was hers._

"_But I would have won, Malak. Kuat. And Byss. And Alderaan. The way to Coruscant would have been clear. It would have been fast. Precise. Final."_

And then, my love? How would you rule your shattered Empire? Do you think Malachor would survive your assault? If your bombs didn't kill him, the Republic's freedom fighters would. Or the other Senate families . . .

"_I'd rule with you at my side, Malak." _You were the one trained to rule. I was only trained to win. But look at us now, look at us now . . .

Look at me; look at your champion, Revan. Look what he's become. _Out loud he made sounds that might have been pain or laughter or just convulsions. His booted feet twisted a staccato against the floor. His heavy hands clenched and unclenched. His body arched, almost boneless. _

And our son? Red, what about Malachor? _His thoughts were suddenly clipped and cold. Like his voice was once, when he was angry. His thoughts were sane. They always were, when he spoke about their son._

_The lightning died. Revan knelt beside him on the floor. She pulled the mask off her face again._

"_You can't measure the life of one child against the lives of all sentients. The Republic needs to be overthrown. It's a rotting hulk — we . . . " her voice faltered suddenly and she hated herself for it. _Be like Hoth, just be like Hoth. _"We can always have more sons, Malak. We can always have another son, Malak — if —"_

Red hair, gray eyes. His chubby fists. The weight of him in her arms. Don't think about him. Don't — think — about him.

"_How is he? Have you had . . . news?" Odd how her voice could still sound the same, when underneath her reserve was cracking. _Flaws in the ice field. Gray ice, deep cracks under the surface make everything unstable. Make things fall apart.

Don't let it fall apart. Hold it together.

_Malak closed his eyes, hands going to the prosthesis, brow furrowed in pain. The metal was still hot, she realized. Underneath it he was burned. Badly. She'd have to rewire the neural circuits and possibly try another skin graft, if it would take . . . _

_Revan pulled his head awkwardly unto her lap. She pulled a kolto pack from her pocket and injected it in the meat of his neck. She unsnapped the prosthesis, turning his neck to the side to expose the ruin beneath. It was worse again. Underneath the burn, there was more infection._

Father says he's doing well with the tutors . . .

_Malak's eyes fluttered, as she applied more kolto to the worst of the ruin. He made a choking sound and Revan worriedly checked the respirator line that ran, surgical and clean through his throat cavity and up into his upper jaw. It seemed intact. _It is still not widely known whose son he is — but when he gets older he'll—he — looks like you, Red. He — he cries for you. Still. _Her hand traced the remnants of his upper lip, and it twitched, in a futile attempt at expression, exposing blackened stubs of what had once been his smile._

"_Someday he'll understand." The rest of that was best unspoken. _If he survives long enough. _She hesitated. "He still shows no sign of the Force?"_

No. You cut him off from that when you left. I don't know how you did it, Revan but you did it completely. My father has him tested monthly. My father — _dark laughter amidst the pain in his mind._My father raising our son was _not_ supposed to be part of the plan.

"_We couldn't take him with us and who else could we trust? Your father thinks of him as his heir. He'll guard him with his life. And he's powerful enough to do it. The Jedi would offer no such refuge and what they'd teach him . . . I don't want him to learn. And if he's not Force-sensitive . . . they wouldn't want him anyway." Revan closed her eyes._

And besides, their days are numbered. Men like Malachi D'Reev will be useful in the new order. The Jedi will not.

"_Your _father_ will be pleased with you, Malak. Telos is exactly the sort of target he'd prefer to have us waste our resources attacking." She bent over him, brushed her lips against his forehead. That soft kiss hurt him more than any torture ever would._

_And part of her reveled in that. _No, I'm not immune. But I'm in charge.

You can't trust my father, Red.

"_I'm not a fool, Mal." She got up from the floor, mentally sending Davad an order for the medical droid to come to their chambers. _

Every tool has its purpose. _She paced._

"_You did so well with wanton useless slaughter, Malak, that I'd like you to do it more. I'm sending you to command the groundside assault on Endar. Try to leave a few alive, let some escape to tell the galaxy about the Sith threat. The rest . . . just do what you do best."_

Do what you're good for. Kill things. Destroy.

_The other Sith on the ship were whispering. She could hear the shape of their thoughts — if not the words — like the hiss of vipers, the sound of scales. "I'll leave you now. To your thoughts." She paused, reaching a hand out to steady herself on the doorframe. "And I'll send Sheris in to see to your . . . injuries."_

Every tool has its purpose. Even a broken one.

XXX

"Revan!" Light in her eyes. Sting of a stim against her throat. Something heavy and metal in her hands. A stretch of solid industrial tile in her vision. A worried blue eye, the brow above it bisected by an old scar. Another scar, pink and smooth on his cheek.

Revan closed her eyes. Her head felt like she'd bashed it on something. "Canderous." Her head pounded.

"Are you having fits now, too? You — you were gone. Just gone." Oerin's voice, above her, slightly puzzled. She'd never heard him sound anything but self-assured. It was disconcerting.

Revan struggled to sit up, staring at the mask in her hands with revulsion. Oerin pushed back Canderous and took it from her. Mekel was standing in the background biting his lip. _Whatever that was . . . whatever that was — they didn't — they didn't understand it either. _

_That wasn't like the others. That wasn't a vision or a fragment. That was complete. That was — _real—_I was — _her mind fled from the implications. _I am not that. That isn't me, that can't be me._

"C-carth —- " she was shivering. "Where's Carth?" The silver mask gleamed in the Mandalorian's hand. Revan blinked, confused. "That mask — it's not the same one that I — it can't be the same one — that I — "

"It's not the mask, Padawan."

A man's voice, Eosian accent. Unfamiliar. From the doorway. Revan closed her eyes, drawing her knees to her chest. _Force users. Strong. Six of them._

"It appears our Jedi escort has arrived." She opened her eyes and looked up. Above her, Oerin Lin made a sweeping bow to the six brown-robed figures that came into the chamber. Behind them, lurked Carth. He was wearing his Republic dress uniform again. He looked angry. He pushed back the — _members of the Jedi Council — _and came to her, took her in his arms.

"What did you do to her?" her lover — _no husband he's my husband he is not what I saw I saw what I just saw was not my husband — _glared at the Jedi, strain evident in his voice.

"I showed the Padawan this." The man came closer. An old Eosian man, face lined and worn. In his hand he held a tiny fragment of crystal. Gold and faceted. "We have all seen it."

Revan swallowed. It was too small to be a holocron.

"It's a recording," a woman's voice said. Cool. Serene. She was Falleen, and would have been beautiful except for the ugly red weal that bisected half of her face. "A fragment of a larger holocron. Just a piece of memory."

Revan closed her eyes. No need to ask whose holocron.

_Mine. Before they burned away my mind, they recorded it._

The implications of that were too much to handle. Her mind shied away from them, skittish. A wild hessi dancing away from a bridle. _They recorded my memories. They have my memories. They've seen everything that I was. . ._

"It would have been impossible," said a white-haired woman with a smooth unlined face, "for one person to live through all of Revan's life. The Jedi Council searched through Revan's mind for the keys to stopping Malak, like looking for pieces of ash in a plain of sand." Her composure faltered. "It was not — a pleasant experience."

"What did they show you?" Carth's face was concerned. Soft with concern. In her head the echo of Malak's laughter again and his armor stained black with gore.

_Telos, I saw Telos. I saw Malak. I saw monsters. I saw me._

"She doesn't seem shocked to learn Revan had a husband and son," the Eosian mused.

"It is as we suspected." The white-haired woman — _Echani — _folded her arms and nodded decisively. "I warned Bastila that the danger of corruption was great. The Shan girl was careless. Through their bond, she must have reintroduced some of the old . . . personality. You set too much responsibility on her shoulders, Zhar. I warned Vandar that the risk outweighed the gain. Vrook was right."

Master Zhar was standing at the back, next to a brown-haired human man and another Twi'lek, green-skinned, whose face almost entirely covered by a hood. Zhar's orange eyes regarded her calmly.

"Hello, Zhar." Revan corrected herself. She leaned against Carth, but kept her voice steady. _"Master _Zhar."

_Not so long ago, I wanted to flay the flesh from your bones over a slow fire for what you did to me._

_And now, child?_

His voice in her head. Revan flushed.

_There is a bond between Master and Padawan. And you were my Padawan twice._

_Now I want my son. That's all. That's all I want. _She reached for the old anger almost reflexively and was startled to feel it gone. What she'd said in her mind was true.

_No point in subterfuge anyway. They'd see through it._

_I'm proud of you, Padawan. _Zhar's voice again.

"You must consider our offer." The brown-haired human man walked closer to them. Automatically she noted the short, almost military cut of his hair, and his warrior's stance. _A different kind of Jedi, that one._

"Your offer . . ." Carth pulled her closer, as if he could protect her from them. _Funny, when we're alone he struggles when he thinks I don't see. But in front of others he's my champion. My — no. Bad choice of words. Not champion. No. No, no no._

She didn't want to think about what had happened to her last champion.

"Your _offer_ . . . " Carth's voice was furious. He got to his feet, pulling her with him. Her legs felt boneless, shaky. Revan leaned against her — _husband — _trying to regain some semblance of composure. "The one where you _offered_ to take Revan off the Mandalorian tribunal's hands and sequester her in the Jedi Temple for the rest of her days?"

They'd received that offer, encoded in a small blue crystal globe, the same day as the D'Reev recording.

"There are worse fates," said the hooded Twi'lek. He pushed back the cowl and stared at her. His voice was rusty and weak. He moved very slowly, like a man aged before his time. The skin on one side of his face was twisted and mottled, as if from a very old burn.

It was like trying to pick up pieces of ferracrystal and reassemble them. "You — you know what D'Reev is. And you don't stop him. Why? He was allied with Malak and me somehow . . . if you've seen that recording, you've seen _that_. Why don't you stop him? Why did you leave my son with him?"

_You've seen that recording. You've seen others. _She felt a chill. _You've probably seen more of my life than I have._

Master Zhar met her eyes for a moment and then looked away. "Padawan, you must trust me when I tell you to have faith in the larger scope of things. What other options do you have?" His lekku twitched, sketching an emphasis to his words.

"You can't go through with this farce." The white-haired woman's voice was absolute. Her pale eyes looked at Revan as if she were a granslug fallen into her tea. Underneath the robe, Revan saw her hands clench.

_She hates me. Why is that?_

_Why am I even asking? She hates me because I'm Revan. She hates that monster I saw . . . what I saw . . . _

Oerin looked completely disgusted with her. Of course, she wasn't hiding her thoughts. He was, the Jedi ignored him completely.

"I'll ask, okay? Just stop it bugging me!" Mekel's whisper was low, but it caught in the stillness of the room. The Falleen looked at him curiously. Mekel flinched. "I'm sorry," he muttered. He cleared his throat. "I — uh, I was wondering . . . if you had Darth Revan's memories, why'd you need her to find the Star Forge?"

"A very astute question." The Falleen smiled gently at him. It might have been a comforting expression if her face hadn't been cloven by that terrible burn. "A clever question, no matter who asks it." She glanced at Revan. _She thinks I told him to ask that. I — I'm not that smart. Mission is, as always, two steps ahead._

The answer however, was obvious, now that she knew the question. "You couldn't access the temple, couldn't shut down the shields, couldn't reach the Star Forge. You knew that, from my memories. It was . . ." Revan stumbled over the words, remembering the familiarity again, each piece of the Star Map like an old friend. The power singing to her. So much power. "It was bound. To me. Somehow."

_It liked me. I was the first sentient in a thousand years to be sith'aerah. To have a gift that it could use. I was special. _She gritted her teeth.

"We had to leave enough of Revan in the personality that we constructed for the Rakatan artifacts to respond. It must have been an extremely difficult experience." The scarred Twi'lek looked at his hands. "I was more fortunate, long ago." His face was remote. "I pity you, Padawan."

"You didn't_ construct_ the personality," hissed Carth. "You stole it."

It was probably impossible to startle Jedi. They just looked regretful. And sad. "Did we choose badly, Polla Organa?" Zhar asked her.

Her lip curled. "I'm _not her." Goodnight Ma. Sleep tight. Don't let the rejariks bite._

"Ah. Are you instead the woman you saw in the crystal? The shade you saw shadows of in Bastila's mind?" The white-haired Jedi unfolded her hands from her sleeves and put them behind her back, walking back and forth. She looked like an instructor, teaching a very difficult lesson. "Do you feel some kinship with Darth Revan? Was her life appealing to you? Do you lust for power like that again? Do you still want to destroy the Republic?"

"I don't care about your fracking Republic!" The words just came out. Irrationally she wanted to throw something. Or shoot it. _Except I'd miss because I can't — hit a black thresher door in a blizzard. Can't hit anything, can't pilot a starship, can't race a swoop bike, can't . . . _

The brown-haired man nodded. Revan felt a chill. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't care about your fracking Republic . . ." She blinked, hard.

_But Revan did. Revan cared enough to try and destroy it. _

"That's why you picked _her, _isn't it? Why you chose Polla? Because she didn't care."

"Some answers are not worth finding," said the scarred Twi'lek. "Do you know who I am?"

"A Jedi. Member of the Council. Of course I don't. You all made sure of that."

"My name is Nyrmon Het."

Revan looked at him. His face had scars. One gouged deep in his forehead. One of his head tails was gone: the other one bore marks of knife blades. _Twi'leks hold their memories, their identities in their lekku, _chanted the futile information voice. Zhar's voice, maybe. Instructing some long-gone child Revan — or adult Polla.

"You look like you've been through a war." He moved like it too. Stiff with age, but a half-cautious alertness that spoke of someone trained to combat. He and the brown-haired human, she realized, were perfectly poised to take her down in an instant, should she — snap.

_Don't be afraid, Padawan. _Zhar's voice pierced her defenses easily. _They mean you no harm._

"Forty-odd years ago, I was in a war. Thirty-odd years ago, the man that I was — died. And Nyrmon Het took my place. I am Nyrmon Het now. And that is all."

Canderous snorted. He'd been very quiet, standing in one corner of the room since the Jedi entered. Revan glanced at him, and noticed he'd also managed pull out his old repeater. The laser sight glinted on the Twi'lek's scarred face. Canderous frowned, as all eyes turned to him.

Oerin Lin sighed. "The barbarians would probably take it badly if we shot members of the Jedi Council on our way to the treaty talks, Ordo."

_Even he's dropped the charade. But that doesn't matter. Coruscanti laws . . . they can't touch me. If I don't let them._

"It's set on stun," Canderous said. "Probably." Not letting go of the repeater he fished in the pocket of his robes for a cigarra, flicked the lighter core at its tip and stuck it in the corner of his mouth.

"So," he said. Almost conversational. "You Jedi do this a lot, do you? Fall to the dark side? Get mind wipes? Kidnap Republic citizens and steal their memories? Take away a mother's knowledge of her own child?" His lips adjusted the cigarra so that he could spit on the ground. He did. Twice. "Among my people, the last alone would be reason to take blood price on all of your hides. And since you know what Revan is to us . . . I think you'd be happy she's being so reasonable." His voice was gruff. "Give us the kid and we'll go away. "Both the kids. Dustil and Malachor. It can be that simple." He blew a smoke ring. "Or it can get complicated. Your choice."

"They are not ours to give," said the Eosian.

"More importantly," the white-haired woman snapped, still pacing back and forth. "The child, Malachor, is not yours, Padawan."

"He's mine. _He is_ _mine!"_ His face, that round face she'd seen in her dreams, on older in that recording in front of the library. The thoughts she'd almost glimpsed of him. Revan remembered the weight of him in her arms, soft breath against her cheek.

"Malachor's mother died in the Mandalorian wars. You saw what remained after that. Who you are now, Padawan, is someone entirely different." The brown-haired man looked at her. "You have no idea who I am, do you?"

Revan leaned warily against Carth. Indignation warred with logic. This was all another trap. _Trap me with the truth. Tangle me up in it until I have no choice, like Vandar and Dorak did on Dantooine. The Force cannot be denied, it gives you nightmares, Polla Organa. Therefore you must accept our training. The Sith are going to hunt you down, therefore you must go on this quest. The Republic is going to slap you in chains and execute you; therefore, you must go with us to the Jedi Temple and accept your fate. And what's the fate? Another mind-wipe? No. _No.

"You're Kavar Vakla." From his corner, Canderous sounded bored. Oerin raised his hands deliberately to his lips and coughed. "An Onderonian commander. You were trained in battle, before you came to the Jedi Order. We expected _you _to lead the Jedi against us, not Revan." A faint smile crossed his face. "We thought you had balls, but of course we were mistaken. After Dxun . . ." he adjusted the rifle, training its sights on the brown-haired man. "After Dxun you went bleating back to the Council like an unnamed babe and left a pack of half-grown children to actually defend your home system."

The man's face was impassive. "After Dxun," he said lightly, "I knew that some wars are not worth fighting."

"Tell that to your countrymen you left behind for us to slaughter," Canderous growled. "There's a statue of _Revan_ on Iziz. There's no statue of _you._ Disinherited, weren't you? Off the official lines of succession? Jedi must be all you have left._" _He glanced at Revan. "Don't bother listening to that one; he's nothing more than a coward."

Again the man showed no reaction. None of the Jedi did. They were all watching her. Watching her too carefully.

"I was one of Revan's teachers," the Onderonian said softly. "And a friend."

"If you had any authority you'd just take her away," Carth snapped. "So don't bother."

The Falleen laughed. A silvery laugh, like the chime of tiny bells. "You still inspire much loyalty, Revan." She looked smug. "Jopheena was right." She glanced at Mekel and he shrank away from her. The look on his face was too easy to read. _Guilt. Is that the Jedi Master he injured? _"We've cancelled the search for you, Mekel Jin. There's no need to be frightened." Her hand reached out and touched the boy's face. "Strange," she mused. "Before I sensed darkness in you. Now all I sense is purpose. Determination. And strength." Her scaled lips curved, and her head ridge flushed a deeper gold. "Jedi Knight Revan has been a good influence."

_She called me Revan. None of the others have. She called me a Jedi Knight._

Revan caught the scowl that passed quickly across the Eosian's face before vanishing. The slight twitch of Zhar's head tails.

_The Jedi Council is divided, regarding my case. How deep does the divide run? And where is the split?_

The answer came, obvious._ My identity. They aren't sure who I am either. I'm both. I'm neither. I'm — nothing. Goodnight Ma. Sleep tight. Don't let — _there was something stuck in her eye. Angrily, she rubbed it away.

Kavar shifted on his feet. "You and Jopheena have taken responsibility for Mekel Jin, Iridel. It's your right. But again, I think you're making a terrible mistake, leaving him in the Padawan's hands."

"We're going to be late," Oerin Lin said mildly. "Late for my coronation." He tapped his foot. "I know lateness is fashionable in Coruscanti society, but we really should go."

"I wonder again, where you found the Fett Mandalore . . ." The Echani Jedi crossed her arms, studying Lin closely. _Too closely. Not good for them to wonder that. Really not good. Mission warned me . . . and she was right._

"General Ordo met me at the swoop track, on Manaan. Convinced me to seek my true heritage." Lin's smile was bright and guileless as a child's. "I would have been season champion, had I not chosen to take a more active role in my own fate. Meet my destiny. See the galaxy . . . "

Carth shifted softly behind her. They'd told him Canderous met Oerin in the Manaan cantina at the pazaak tables. _One small lie, my love. Because I was afraid how you'd take the truth._

"Tactical Statement: There are six Force-using sentients of great power standing here doing nothing. Conclusion: This dialogue serves no purpose. Unless you wouldlike me to commence negotiations on your behalf, Master, we should go." HK, freshly polished and revealed again in his own copper chassis, clanked in the doorway. "Happy Anticipation: I am looking forward to continuing our tour. I have many fond memories of the Senate complex to share with you. Senator Thomasi and I spent a great deal of time there."

He was speaking Rakatan. _Although since they've seen my memories I guess I can assume that won't work . . . they can probably speak it too._

"No need for negotiations, HK. At this time." She answered him in the same language, watched the white-haired Jedi's eyes narrow. Revan smirked. _That one speaks it. And she hates me for it. Well, I don't like her either._

"Beep beep doo weet!" Mission pushed past HK. The flower on her chassis had been retouched. Mekel's work, probably. She beeped several more nonsense syllables and rolled in a circle. The gloom on Mekel's face dissipated slightly. He covered his mouth with his hand, to hide a laugh. His hand reached out and rested it on her dome.

Oerin snapped the silver mask to his newly reassembled helm and put it on. "Right," he drawled, sounding bored. "Put on the restraints and let's get on with the show."

Carth's brown eyes met hers, as they snapped restraining bands on each other's wrists. Canderous finally put down his rifle and did the same. One of the Jedi coughed.

"The Senate has requested that we take the precaution of also using a neural disruptor," Zhar said. He sounded apologetic.

"In case the Mandalorians are wrong about the loss of your Force powers." The Falleen smiled at her.

"I was under the impression that Senate chambers were Force-sealed. Ysalamiri?" Revan made her voice light and unconcerned. Inwardly she quailed. _Don't cut me off from the Force, please. It's like being trapped. It's like choking, blindness, dying . . . _

"Forty years ago, ysalamiri proved . . . unreliable." The scarred Twi'lek responded. "Naturally, there is some concern. And knowing the truth as we do, we cannot let you present a potential danger to others."

Revan closed her eyes and nodded. _I thought they might do this._ Her former master snapped the heavy collar in place around her neck. A silver choker that extended from her shoulders all the way up to her chin. She couldn't move her neck. Almost instantaneously, the Force went away. She'd been hiding it before, but this was different. Total absence. Blindness.

The Falleen was advancing on Mekel with another one. The boy looked completely terrified. _Oh hell._

"Unfasten, the neck of your robe, please," the Jedi said. Her voice was gentle and kind.

"No." Mekel shook his head. His hand went involuntarily to his neck, and what the cloth concealed.

_Damnit. I should have anticipated that. We need Mission's counsel. She's the only one who can keep all the Senate delegations straight . . . and she's our advantage. One they don't anticipate. One of the two . . . _

The T3 whirred, almost indignant.

"Mekel will stay here." Revan imbued her voice with authority, trying to ignore the way the collar cut into her neck, made her unable to turn her head. _Bind my hands, cut me off from the Force, lead me out like a kissra to slaughter . . . _She closed her eyes. _Well, it will look realistic. _

_And we still have Oerin._

"I want to come — " the boy began. Then stopped. He nodded hesitantly. "Or I'll — I'll stay here. Maybe I can . . . help with things here."

A swish of robes and the Headwoman of Rialis came into the room, her double swords clanking. She cleared her throat, expectant, and all eyes turned to her.

"Fett Revan Ordo Lin Mandalore, Gwenarius and the others are ready. The false restraints you had us place on the Ordo clansmen will drop at a moment's notice. Additionally, I took the precaution of asking your computer to isolate the frequency they use to scan for weapons. The Coruscanti dogs will be completely unprepared for any assault — should such a thing become necessary. We await your orders."

The Headwoman looked pleased with herself. Canderous sighed. Revan closed her eyes. _What did I expect? She's half-senile . . . but she's the elder and we need her to challenge Oerin's right to rule them . . . _

"There will be no Mandalorian escort," the Eosian Jedi said. He sounded grim.

"I told you no weapons, Headwoman Catrinex Rialis," Revan said. _The idea was a show of force, not actual force. I don't trust you all with weapons. If things go badly, you'd all be too happy to re-enact the battle for the Senate — because it would be a great battle. And for you that'd be just grand._

_The battle for the Senate . . . oh, and I'll be Ulic. _Her dream taunted her. _My dream was only a dream. And I'm not going to think about it._

"I told you no weapons as well, Catrinex," Oerin gritted his teeth, glaring the old woman down. She looked completely unperturbed.

"You!" She cuffed Oerin lightly on the cheek. "Unblooded whelp! This is woman's business that we have with D'Reev. None of your concern."

"Do you really think you can control the Mandalorians, Padawan?" Kavar sighed. "If you insist on continuing this charade, we will allow the following: you, the false Fett, Canderous Ordo, and Carth Onasi . . ." he scanned the room. "You'll need Rialis to back your claim, so you, Headwoman . . . The old scow looked pleased to be included.The Jedi folded his arms. "That is all."

Revan swallowed. _That's not enough. That will look too much like the orchestration that it is. Only us and Lin and the Headwoman — if she even remembers her lines . . . _

_Well of course, they don't want this to work._

Mekel glanced up. "It's okay," he whispered, looking at her, and then looking away again. The Falleen raised a brow ridge at him and he flinched.

_Mission thinks it's okay, then. Great. Why? _Revan ran through possibilities in her head. _A map, a maze, a thousand possibilities and one — _she couldn't nod. The collar wouldn't allow it. _Public viewstation. Has to be. _The map of the Senate chamber swum in front of her eyes. She had no recollectionof the place itself, but she'd memorized the schematics and looked at every holostill that she could find. _Okay. That could work. Maybe. If they can get out of this building and get there on their own . . . _

"Fervent Objection: Master, I am well-versed in Coruscanti custom. To leave me behind would risk offending some faction with your typical organic carelessness. I must come with you."

"Your 'protocol' droid may come." Kavar's agreement startled her. The other Jedi frowned. The Eosian opened his mouth as if to raise an objection, then closed it again. Something unspoken had passed between the members of the Council. "Is he armed?"

Revan didn't know how to answer that. The collar choked her, she felt blind. _They'll know if I lie. Is 'not exactly' a lie? Is 'he probably can't harm any sentient lifeforms but I'm not sure' an acceptable response?_

"Reassuring Statement: my lethal capacities against organic sentients are still inoperative. However, I am well-prepared for the Senatorial traditions; even with the restraints my poor shattered meatbag Master has shamefully imposed upon my programming."

Kavar nodded. "Good." He folded his hands. "We can only escort you to the entrance of the Senator's complex, Padawan. After that . . . "

"You may need your droid's assistance." Zhar's expression was sad. He shook his head slowly. "I wish you'd just accept our offer."

The Falleen advanced on Mekel again, looking at him curiously. "Free will," her silvery voice said. "The Order has always believed, all sentients must choose their own fate. May yours be fortunate, Revan. More so than it has proven in the past." She turned to Mekel. "Thalia hopes you're doing well. She is worried. Shall I give her your regards?"

"Um, sure . . ." the boy whispered, backing away.

"Free . . _. will?_ You've got to be joking!" Carth grabbed Revan's hands, clumsy with the restraints and pulled her to him, as if he could shield her from all of them. "If there's something you're not telling us, how can Revan make a decision?" His voice was low and dangerous. "You're doing it again, aren't you? Sending Revan off to confront something she doesn't understand, doesn't remember, while you sit back with all of the answers. It's not right — it's not — it's not _fair_! How can you call yourselves Jedi, how can you do this to her — to us — again?"

Kavar opened his hands, palms upward, frowning. "It is difficult to predict what she knows and what she does not. As hard to predict as _what_ she is. Would you tell us, Padawan? Would you share the details of your plan with us now? Would you seek our counsel?"

Revan's mouth tightened and she glared at the scarred Twi'lek. _And be like him? _"No."

"May the Force be with us all," the Eosian whispered.

"You haven't changed much," the Echani snarled, under her breath.

XXX

_Polla Organa_

The sun was dim and red in the sky, tinting the lake with a pink cast over the black still water. Polla shifted the woven ferragrass basket on her shoulders, and adjusted the setting on her scythe's laser-edged blade to low. The stalks of Derran lilies were tough on the outside, but very fragile within. Too high a setting and the blossoms would crumple like paper, wilt before their time.

Maybe it had been Auntie Mita's time to go; but that didn't make her any less sad. _Damn annoying busybody most wonderful aunt in the world. _Polla rubbed her eyes with the back of a sweat-soaked sleeve.

Summertime. It would be a hot day with no rain. The memorial was starting in two hours, and she'd come down here herself to gather the lilies. Lilies made the plants sound fancier than they were. In truth, Derran lilies were weeds that grew wild in the swampy, boggy parts of Deralia. But once, when she was twelve and just becoming a woman, Auntie Mita had taken her down to this very place and given her a long rambling talk about men, women, life, and the world. It was something she'd never forgotten.

_"Organa women are like these flowers," Auntie Mita said, twisting the stems of the ones she'd cut to make Polla a white-petaled crown. "Tough on the outside, tender on the inside; common as stars. And as beautiful as stars, too." The old woman beamed at her and chucked her chin. "You'll break some hearts one of these days, Pollie. Mark my words."_

_"Don't call me Pollie," Polla scowled. She was a grown-up now, nearly almost, and although her parents had ridiculed the idea she'd had to change her name to Desiderata, or Seriina, or Riannnaishen'amah, at the very least, she could get everyone to stop calling her Pollie. _

_Auntie Mita made a clucking noise under her breath. "But looks really aren't the all of it," she continued, ignoring Polla's complaint. "The important thing is, to be happy. Find it where you can, and don't ever let it go." She adjusted Polla's topknot so that it tucked neatly under the crown of flowers._

_"But how do you know?" Polla asked her._

_"How do you know what?" Her aunt was already fidgeting with something else, digging into their picnic basket for some cakes and tea. She handed Polla a generous slice of thisla tart, wrapped in an eridu napkin._

_"How do you know when you've found it?"_

_Auntie Mita frowned and shook her head. "Suns, I hope you grow up smarter than you are now, dear. How do you know? Can't you tell when you're happy or not?"_

Polla twisted the stem of one of the lilies, threading it through the ties of her topknot. Her bare feet squelched in the warm mud. She picked up another armful from the pile she'd already cut and lay them gently in the basket. Pausing for a moment, she looked at the lake. A few wild hessi were drinking on the opposite shore. One of them snorted at her, and rolled its meter-length tongue threateningly in her direction. She laughed, and it shied away, galloping off on its six heavily clawed feet. The others just regarded her curiously.

"Chtuk, Chtuk, chuck," she clucked at them, like Mita had taught her. Polla put the cutting blade down for the moment, and fished in her pocket for the crumbled kaffa cake she'd grabbed before setting out on this expedition. Rolling its eyes, one of the colts came closer; curiosity overruling caution. She held out her palm flat and felt the flick of his barbed tongue brush against her palm as the. The hessi colt neatly snagged the cake. He was still a half-meter away. "You're a beauty, you are," she cooed. He was, dappled blue and gray and green, with a silky yellow mane.

His ears perked up and he mewed at her softly, begging for more.

"Polla!"

The hessi colt and the rest of the herd startledstarted at the noise and took off, thundering across the shallows of the lake and back into the swamps.

Polla turned around. "Hey, Sei." Her husband picked his way cautiously down the slippery path to the lakeshore, Junior swaddled and slung in across his chest.

"Your Ma called this morning," he said. "Said she heard from you really late last night. Wanted to know if you were alright."

"Late? I called her after dinner . . . it wasn't late!" Polla shrugged. Seiran smiled and her and shrugged back, unslinging Junior as he came closer. Polla grinned at him, reaching for her son.

Seiran had gotten the knots right, but he'd used a blanket she'd never seen before to bundle the baby. It was really high-grade, the kind of eridu used mainly for export, and the edges were trimmed with white fur.

Polla nuzzled Junior's nose with her own, and swung him gently back and forth in her arms. "Will you get the flowers, hon? I'll carry Junior… he's going to be too hot in this thing. Where'd it come from anyways? Looks pretty fancy for a baby's swaddle…"

"Your Uncle Boon, I guess. There was no card. Came a week ago from Coruscant. It was the only thing I could find in black to wrap him in."

"He's going to melt."

"No, it's temp-regulated and self-cleaning. There were instructions that came with it."

"Hmmm…" Junior gurgled happily. He didn't look uncomfortable anyways. Polla fingered the fabric. "Bloody hell, Seiran, this is imperial weave. I know Uncle Boon's doing well, but . . ."

Her husband smiled at her. "It's fit for a prince, yeah. See the embroidery? I think that pattern's an old Zabrak tribal design. Not sure, been a while since I took xensosh."

"It's kind of pretty." The red slashes gleamed against the black fabric. Swaddled inside such opulence, her son blew a spit bubble and gurgled, content.

XXX

_Malachi D'Reev_

The cruiser's engines hummed as they spun towards the docking bay of the Senate complex. It was almost a city in itself.

"There are over ten thousand sentients that make their home within the Senate's walls," Malachi began. "The complex is a masterpiece of construction, the product of more than fifteen thousand years of the Republic's stability and progress. Its main Senate chamber is over half a kilometer tall and has representative seats for more than five hundred worlds: full, colony, allied and protectorate. Each core world has five senatorial houses. House D'Reev has been a Coruscanti representative for over four thousand years; although long ago, our ancestors came from Corellia. The noble Coruscanti Houses share a unique position, as the closest advisors to the Chancellor. Alone, of all the Senate seats, ours are passed by blood, and not by election or sponsorship."

"I've had the tour," Dustil muttered.

"Of course you have, you've been here with your father. But this will be an entirely different experience. Coruscanti houses have their own traditions, and as our guest, you may not understand them. Please realize it is important not to cause any offense. We're circling now to land in the D'Reev docking bay. From there, we will be provided with an escort to the Senate Chambers. Korrie, remember what I told you about children being seen and not heard. It's very important."

"Be quiet, Korrie. Don't make any sudden movements," the child parroted obediently. He glanced at Dustil again. The other boy pressed his hand, reassuringly. It was really quite touching.

"It's extremely important." Malachi felt the pang of apprehension again. The child was very young for this. _Too young._ But the mother had left him with no choice. Eglatine immunity could be discharged, under the right set of circumstances. _He has to grow up sometime. Let it be now._

"We're going to see her today," the boy murmured under his breath where he thought his grandfather wouldn't hear. Dustil stroked the lad's hair, an oddly vulnerable expression on his face.

"Remember your lessons, Korrie — " the old man reminded him. Suddenly, the cruiser dipped and a red light went off flashing overhead. HK's voice broke over the comm channel.

"Alert, Master: Hostile drones. Starboard, closing, ten point three meters. Burrowers. Class C-three. The colors are purple and gold."

"Evasive," Malachi said. _So soon. I thought I'd have more time. _"Raise the shields." _And pray that they hold._

Across from him on the bench Dustil's eyes widened. "Burrowers?" His hand went to his forehead and he pulled at the band there. "Get this _thing_ off me. . . "

"We'll be fine. Sit back down." Malachi kept his voice steady. "Burrowers. They aren't after you or Korrie, Dustil. Just stay calm and remain still. Both of you. No matter what happens."

The cruiser jolted as the drone's drills landed. The entire craft shook, vibrating as the adamite drills began their work piercing through the layers of shielding. Malachi's heart sunk. _I thought I'd have more time before the gerek began to circle. Scavengers on the weak, to a man. "Purple and gold."_ _House Racharn._

"HK, send the appropriate orders. To be carried out regardless."

"Proud Compliance, Master," his droid said.

The cruiser rocked from side to side as the burrowers' drills invaded. Malachi's breath was short and his chest ached. _It cannot not end like this._

"Malachor." There was no time to say much. "You're too young to have this happen now, but remember, everything I did, I did for you. I left you records in the archives — you cannot rely on your mother. She doesn't know—"

"Gods," Dustil whispered, his face twisting. "Release the damn disrupter! Malachi — please!"

No time to wonder at the lad's sudden familiarity. No time for anything. The hull breach alarms went off in a heartbeat. Malachi activated his personal shield, then leaning across to touch the ornate brooch on Malachor's collar as well.

_He's an Eglatine, Racharn won't strike at him but . . . but the crossfire . . . accidents . . . Damn you, Revan, you cannot win the game like this. Is this part of your plan? _His thoughts were desperate. _Is this your doing, Revan? Have I underestimated you that badly? _His heart sank. _I am not this much of a fool. How could she have gathered House Racharn? They have no reason to love her, they were invested heavily in the Echanis system. And it suffered greatly during the war. Her war. She—_

"Release the disrupter!" Dustil's face was pale and his dark eyes burned. "Stang — gods, Malachi — please!" The lad leaned across the table between them, reaching for the controller Malachi wore on his wrist.

Hiss of air escaping through the hull breech; alarms jangled. Their cruiser jolted to a stop, as HK put it into hover and disengaged the barrier between pilot and passengers. His laser rifle took out the first drone. The ferracrystal fibers of its purple and gold signature blew to pieces in a pulse of red light.

"Malachor — remember me," the old man said. He stood up. _Meet your fate standing. _He drew out the small disrupter he carried from his belt. Futile, perhaps, but better to go down with an explosion than a whimper. Time was so short. _I should have anticipated this, I should have — _

The whine of more tiny drills. Somewhere in the background, an announcer drone murmured, toneless. "Sanctioned by Coruscant law, House Racharn declares hostile intent against House D'Reev. Statute twenty-two, amendment seven."

"Mal, get down!" Dustil was already tackling his grandson to the ground. "Release the bloody control, Malachi! Please!"

"Racharn?" His grandson was crying. A red head poked out from under Dustil's arm on the floor. "Leeshy's house? But that's Leeshy's house? She'd — "

"Keep your head _down_!" Dustil hissed, shoving his grandson's head into the floor. He fumbled at something underneath his robes. A hiss and a blue beam engaged. Malachi stared at in shock.

_Malak's weapon. I knew Malachor has been in the vaults. But — he gave Dustil Onasi my son's old lightsaber?_

"Burrowers sense movement," the Telosian hissed through gritted teeth. "Get down Mal. Stay still, Korrie. Don't move at all. No matter what happens." The boy's face was desperate. "Release the band, Malachi. _Now!"_ The lightsaber wavered, coming closer. The boy's face twisted with hate, and for a moment, Malachi wondered if Dustil was about to cut him down.

The Senator shook his head, slowly. No matter what came to pass, his grandson would survive. _If I have been outmaneuvered this badly by _her_ then I deserve this._

Dustil Onasi's voice was hoarse. "What if it's not you, Malachi? What if it's not _you they're after? _Release the damn _band!"_

Another flash of red light as HK targeted another one of the drones. But more humming. A hundred hull breaches, pinpoints of lightfrom the stasis field activated around their craft to prevent any outside intervention. _Honorable Coruscanti combat. An honorable Coruscanti death._

_Their house is far more numerous than ours. An old man and a child. And Her._ Malachi D'Reev wanted to laugh. _What else can I do in the face of death? An old man and a child and her — will she respect this? Or did _she orchestrate it? _I've underestimated her. Somehow she found allies. Somehow . . . _

"Father!" Malachor's voice was high and panicked. He started to stand and Dustil shoved him to the floor again with one hand, the blue particle blade flashing as it hit another drone dart. And then another.

"I am not afraid," Malachi D'Reev began formally. _This is how my father met his end. And his father before him. _"I tried to be a father to you, Malachor. Remember —"

A dart flashed before his eyes and Dustil's blade stopped it. The lad whirled to face another and another. HK's laser flashed.

His grandson started to get up. Dustil's hand pushed him down again, even as he moved to counter another drone dart that circled around Malachi's head.

"Release the frelling band!" the Telosian boy cried again. "Gods, please! Without the Force — I can't—" He cut another one down and pivoted, turning back to the child that cowered underneath him.

Another dart penetrated Malachi's shielding. He braced himself for the sting, watching dully as Dustil and HK moved too slowly, too late to stop — the drone hissed and spun before his eyes. There was a horrible split second before he recognized it for what it was. A terrible pause, when he watched the purple and gold microfilaments spin and he felt the sting on his face before he realized.

Dustil had stopped moving, his mouth open as if he was trying to say something.

Then Malachor screamed and convulsed.

The drone dart that hung twisting between Malachi's eyes fizzled out. _A feint, it was a feint. It wasn't me at all . . ._

"_Target reached," _chimed the toneless voice. _"By first strike, Racharn declares its intention against D'Reev. Let the games begin."_

"Objection!" Malachi cried out. "He's eight! He's an Eglatine! Not a legal target! Not!"

"Denied: Your destination is Senate Chambers. He is your Second. His Eglatine status is dissolved. House Racharn cites intentionality as justifiable cause."

On the floor, his heir and all of his hopes for the future twisted and shook. The child's face turned blue as the poison hit his system.

Dustil's face was ashen. He dropped to the floor, the deactivated lightsaber clattering beside him, forgotten. "The neural band!" His hand clawed at his forehead, "Malachi, please!"

Shaking, the Senator pushed the button at his wrist. The golden band fell off the Telosian's forehead. Dustil took Malachor's hands in his. His eyes were closed and his lips moved. "Gods, Force, please . . . no . . . please . . ."

_By the games, by the gods, by luck, by the Force . . . no . . ._

On the floor Malachor screamed and shook. "It hurts! Father! Mother — please make it stop hurting — make it stop — "

"I'm here, Mal." Dustil's hands moved. He took a deep breath, and a cooling white aura of light enveloped both of them.

_Healing? The lad can heal? Thank the gods, thank the Force thank —_

Malachi found his voice again, stumbling over the formal phrase. "House Racharn, D'Reev has foiled your attack. We — request — one standard day before resuming hostilities. Coruscanti statute twenty-nine. By the laws that bind. By the game."

"The . . . game . . . " Dustil held Malachor close. Trembling, Malachi knelt next to him, grasping his grandson's hand. The pulse was thready but it was there. "It's not a _game_, old man." His voice dropped. "It never was."

"Revan. They would not dare otherwise. This was a strike at _her." _

Dustil only looked at him. His face twisted, as if he was struggling to speak. He pulled the child protectively onto his lap. "Between the two of you, you'll get him killed."

"I don't expect you'd comprehend Coruscanti politics, Dustil. But Revan brought this on our heads. D'Reev has been allied with Racharn for centuries. Even so, I had to work very hard to gain back their trust after my son and his wife's assault on their interests. But now . . ."

Malachi shook his head. There was no point in explaining this to a half-grown Telosian. "How are you feeling, Malachor?"

"I never understood," Dustil whispered. "Never." The child in his arms peered at his grandfather through the crook in Dustil's arms, his eyes wide and gray.

"Can't you tell Senator Racharn that you're sorry?" His heir rubbed his nose with his sleeve. The child was very pale, but there was a flush of life returning to his cheeks already. _Thank the gods they used one of the slow poisons. Thank the Force the Telosian can heal. Thank the game he cares for my grandson._

"It's not me she's angry at, Korrie. It's your mother."

"Oh." The small face hardened and the chin set stubbornly. "But Leeshy's my friend and I never did anything to her or her stupid family . . ."

Dustil shook his head, almost imperceptibly. The boy's face turned up to his and they stared at each other.

"There's more of your father in you than I thought possible, young Onasi," Malachi said. "You saved my grandson's life." He tried to chuckle comfortingly, but it came out forced. "I guess you've earned the right to call me Malachi."

"My father . . . ." Dustil's face was ashen. "My father, the hero." He pulled Malachor closer and whispered something in his ear. _Comforts_, the old man thought. _Two lost children . . ._ he cleared his throat, there was something stuck in it. He got to his feet again, and straightened his robes, lifted his head high.

"I suppose you've earned the right to Malak's old 'saber as well. But Korrie, you are _not _to keep digging around in the vaults without my permission. I'll have to seal them off from you entirely if this insolence continues."

The announcer drone chimed. "Demilitarization is complete. You may disembark now. Racharn has failed in their attempt against D'Reev. D'Reev wins the round." The blue light of the stasis field faded from the viewscreens. HK moved to open the hatch.

Malachi reached out a hand to his heir. His mind moved the pieces on the board; shifting, rearranging, accommodating. _I thought I'd have more time. I thought her ruin would save him. But I will not be unprepared again. I know now what I must do_ He sighed, already planning the necessary arrangements. Security would be a concern, of course. And by necessity, certain concessions would be needed for an advantageous accord. So much depended on her intentions. Everything, really. But the old proverb still rang true.

_A House divided cannot stand._

XXX


	24. Happy Families

**Disclaimer: **as previous. A/N at end (ed, minor changes ty ether 5/4)

**Chapter 24 / Happy Families**

XXX

_Mekel Jin_

"Blue, isn't this a really big risk for you?" Mekel whispered.

At his side, Millifar was watching him too closely. Strange, because he used to wish she'd watch him -- but she mostly had eyes for Oerin Lin. Hey, who could blame her? The blonde-haired man had it all: looks, Force, personality, power . . . but of course Milli watched Mekel now because she was afraid he was going to fall down again. Normally he'd be touched to have gotten her attention; but as it was, her attention was terrifying.

Mekel didn't want anyone to know why he kept having the fits -- the shakes, the Coruscanti shamble as they called it in the sublevels.

_-- The risk's within acceptable parameters, Mekk. Fleet forces are all over the place, you really think they're going to miss one little troop carrier? Besides, at this point a show of resources beyond their understanding will impress our enemies. And making an impression is seventy-nine point four tenths of the battle yet to come. -- _

They were standing on the roof garden, which still bore the debris from the festival two days before. Cleaning crews hadn't been able to come since the building had been put on lock-down. To his right, Gwenarius fiddled with the shield generator that held up the roof dome, cursing softly to herself.

"Let me try," Mekel said finally. The Mandalorian woman eyed him, dubious. "I'm good with locks." It was too easy a lock for Mission, too self-contained; but he reached into its circuits with the Force, seeing each one like cool and bright threads. He untangled them and everything snapped into place.

The dome's forcefield above them dissolved.

_-- Bringing the boat down now. --_ Mission murmured in his ear_. — Easy! --- _

Above their heads the great silver carrier decked and settled, turbines churning in for a landing. It was huge. Designed to hold maybe two hundred troops and there were only twenty of them.

"Impressive," Gwenarius said. "Are the barbarians likely to be intimidated by the size of our vessel?"

One of the other women answered that in Mandalorian, and the boys in front of them all blushed.

_-- I've gotten us docking clearance in the Senate's main hangar bay. Tell them to start getting on board. The guards there are expecting us. They've been told that our presence was unofficially requested by Fleet command.—_

"Was it?" Mekel asked, automatically relaying the information to Gwenarius.

_-- Don't be dumb, Mekel Jin. Fleet command is tied up in so many knots right now they don't know which end is up. – _Her voice sounded – almost smug.

Gwenarius nodded to the others and they all trooped up the docking ramp inside the carrier. It was one enormous room lined with benches.

"Welcome aboard!" Mission sang out over the comm speakers. There was a grind of metal as the landing gear disengaged and the floor tilted. They took off. Mekel put out a hand on a bench to steady himself. The edges of his vision blurred.

_-- Your pulse rate is increasing again and your circulatory pressure is dropping. Brain wave patterns indicate -- _

_Frack, Blue, just say it. I'm having anoth -- _

And then Dustil was screaming in his head again, like a hammer in his skull. Nothing but wordless rage -- and Mekel slipped out of his body, dimly aware that somewhere it was falling to the ground and twitching. Copper taste in his mouth -- there goes my tongue -- and then it all went hazy and he was back on that small sleek expensive ship again. He couldn't remember its name; but he was back again, and Dustil paced around him like a stimmed-up mark.

"Why don't you help me?" his old friend yelled. "Help me get him out of my head, help me get out of this?"

"I don't know how," Mekel said. "I don't know where this is; I don't know what it is. I don't know what's happened to you, Dustil but I --"

"You do know," Dustil hissed. "This ship is from _your_ mind, not mine. You _helped_ him do this to me, lock me away like this . . ."

Mekel swallowed. _Him_ was Malak but that was something he never ever wanted to say out loud. To anyone.

What had that Falleen said to him? _"Now all I sense is purpose. Determination. And strength. Jedi Knight Revan has been a good influence."_

_Purpose. Determination. Strength. She should have sensed secrets, I feel like I'm drowning in them. . . . _He hadn't told anyone about Dustil and Malak. He wasn't sure how to, or what it meant. He hadn't told anyone about Arca and the Sith, either. Who would he tell? Revan was the only one that paid any attention to him at all, besides Mission. The Mandalorians had accepted that the voices he spoke to were really Revan's supercomputer with complete equanimity. Now, Gwenarius and the others just used him as a conduit to ask her things when the T3 chassis was elsewhere or they weren't close to a nearby console . . . and since the medscans said his fits weren't going to kill him, everyone ignored them too. He was terrified of Oerin or Revan finding out the truth. He was terrified of Oerin, period.

"Why did you help Malak do this to me?" Dustil hissed.

"I-I didn't," Mekel whispered. "I just wanted to see him."

"Why?"

Mekel ignored that. It was the twentieth time Dustil had asked, and he never seemed to understand the answer. _Why do you want to see your father, Telos? Because he's -- _

"Malak's _not_ your father."

"I know that." He did know that, and the only person besides Revan that Mekel had ever admitted wishing it were so to, was now, thankfully, dead.

"_I understand what you're going through, Selene . . ."_

_Secrets. _Mekel twisted a grim smile at Telos Angst boy. "Why'd you even go there? You walked straight into D'Reev's hands. How could you do something that dumb?" he asked for the thirtieth time.

"Because I didn't want to _be_ like this!"

"Listen, Dustil. I need your help. Can you tell what Malak's thinking? Can you tell _where _you are? Can you talk to him?"

"Why should I help?" His friend ran his fingers through his hair and paced, back and forth, back and forth, rancor in a cage. "I don't _want_ to talk to him. I want my fracking body!" He glared at Mekel. Was it the light or were his eyes . . . ?

"I feel . . . different," Dustil admitted. He took a deep breath – or a ghost of one. It wasn't just the light. His eyes were lighter than they had been. Yellow flecks in the black. They burned. "I can't talk to him. I can't sense him at all. There's just this fracking ship and this fracking room and that's all and sometimes – sometimes you." Angrily he kicked the wall of the bulkhead. His foot passed through it, as if one – or both of them were insubstantial.

"We're going to the Senate today. Today's the day everything happens . . . they — they need me, Dust. I have to go. . ." _Let me go. Please._

Dustil snarled at him, an almost animal sound. "You'd probably like him in my body better than me, wouldn't you, Mekk? You still think he cares about you? He told me he'd forgotten about you completely. He told me that right before he stole my fracking body!" He kicked the bulkhead again, to no effect.

"He had a lot on his mind. Let me go, Dust. Please. She – they -- need my help."

"What have you told my father?" Dustil had a nasty smile on his face. "Is he even wondering where I am or is he so busy fracking the Dark Lord of the Sith that he doesn't even miss me?"

"Your father doesn't talk to me much . . . I-I told him you were fine. With D'Reev. He's going crazy trying to get you back. You –D'Reev sent them a tape of you . . . of. . . _Him_ pretending to be you, I guess. They have a plan to get both of you out of this . . . Revan's going to challenge the Senator for his Senate seat. If she wins, the old man's out and then –"

"And then, _what? _Then Lord Malak is going to give me my body back and vanish in a pool of misty light like a wise Jedi ghost from some holovid?" Dustil's face twisted. The shadows under his eyes looked bruised. "He's pretending to be me and Father didn't even _notice?"_

"If things go well, I'll see you. In the real world. Him, I mean. I'll talk to him. I'll –"

"What if he wants his wife and son back in _my body?_" Dustil looked horrified.

"H-have you tried to talk to him?"

"He tries." Dustil folded his arms and looked smug. "I have nothing to say to him. "I think . . ." he frowned. "I think he can feel how angry I am. I think it hurts him." He almost looked pleased.

"H-he's – you said he said he was just trying to keep the kid safe, Dust. Maybe that's all it is. Maybe you should talk to him. Revan . . . she's been kind to me. Maybe Lord Malak is --"

"I _trusted_ him." The darkness in Dustil's face was impossible to ignore. "I trusted him, I thought I could help and look what happened. You're the only person that can hear me, the only person in the world that can help me, and you're telling me to _talk _to him?" His fists clenched tight and for a moment the ship's walls wavered, replaced by rubble and dust. In the distance came the sound of explosions and screams. _"You _talk to Revan! You talk to my father! Talk to someone! Tell someone! Help me!"

_I can't. _Mekel didn't have to say it out loud, they were close here. Too close. Telos knew why he couldn't – or why he wouldn't. It would make Revan angry. It would make Carth angry. It would disrupt the fragile position Mekel had carved out for himself with her, and among the Mandalorians and Mission. And also . . . he really did believe Malak was doing this for a reason. "I can't," he said out loud. "Just wait. Let me talk to him first. And then, if it's bad, I'll talk to them too."

"And what am I supposed to _do?_" Dustil hissed. Their surroundings wavered and shifted, becoming what looked like a brig on a command carrier, a stone dormitory cell on Korriban, Mekel's uncle's squat in the Underground.

"I don't know? Try and think of something fracking happy for a change?" Mekel focused, as hard as he could and the walls of the ship came back into resolution. "I was happy here. This is my memory. Try and – try and be happy. Calm. Please." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, waiting for another Telos explosion. It didn't happen.

"I-I'm scared," Dustil said quietly. Mekel opened his eyes. Telos was sitting on the floor hugging his knees to his chest, looking like a frightened kid.

"I-I'm sorry," Mekel touched his friend's shoulder, trying for reassurance. His hand passed right through.

XXX

_Revan_

The Jedi surrounded them in perfect circular formation. The hangar was enormous, a vaulted ceiling of ferracrystal etched with patterns of twisting lines that ran down the sides. Through the faceted crystal, the milky haze of the Coruscanti sky shimmered. It was like being on the inside of a giant pearl. Theirs was the only ship docked, although a squadron of Republic fighters that had flown escort to them hovered in front of the entrance to the bay. The Jedi's whispers and muttered asides had ended the second they stepped off the ship. To the outside world—or rather the perfectly-aligned rows of CoruSec and Fleet guards that lined the docking bay—the Jedi were a united body, moving in a perfect circle with Revan, Carth and Canderous in the middle. Oerin and the Headwoman trailed behind with HK, almost forgotten.

_Oerin can't be happy about that,_ Revan thought to herself. She kept her eyes fixed ahead of her—which was easy enough due to the collar.

"I think," Canderous muttered in Mandalorian from her back, "That they're taking us seriously now."

"I'd feel a little better if they weren't all ready to shoot us," Carth said. She turned to see his face. He gave her a tight smile, and she realized he was trying to make a joke. Revan bit her lip. _Force, I love you, Carth. _

The circle of Jedi parted to reveal their military escort. That Ekkumi woman, General Jiya Sand, and a tall Trandoshan in Admiral's bars.

"Carth," Captain Rew Ekkumi said.

"Captain Ekkumi," her husband nodded, voice careful and even. Professional. One soldier to another. _She should be calling him Captain. _Carth's shoulder brushed hers and he gave her a ghost of a smile. The fact that she had not hadn't escaped his notice either.

Rew Ekkumi nodded back and Revan was reminded of the impression that they made. Surrounded by Jedi, hands bound in front of them with reinforced restraints. Carth's dress uniform was a little bit crumpled. Cleaning and pressing hadn't been on either of their list of priorities the past few days. Her own robes were simple Mandalorian ones, the color of sand, cut looser than Jedi robes, woven from coarse cloth. Oerin Lin wore his father's armor; the helmet tucked casually under one arm. The other Mandalorians were dressed as she was.

"I've heard . . ." Ekkumi's voice trailed off. "I've heard many things about you these last few days, Revan." Her dark eyes flickered with something that could have been hurt. She glanced at the squads of guards surrounding them, and they moved farther away, giving them at least the illusion of privacy.

_Telos, she's Telosian. She's Telosian and what Malak did and what I —_ There wasn't anything Revan could think of to say. So she said nothing. Neither did Jiya or the Admiral.

"What do you want, Rew, Jiya?" Carth said. His voice was angry. His head jerked. "Admiral Rensha," he added, acknowledging the Trandoshan. "You've returned from Rim patrol."

"I have," the Trandoshan agreed. She folded her arms. Again, the lack of Carth's military rank in her response was only too evident.

Out of the corner of her eye Revan saw the flutter of brown robes. Their Jedi escort retreated, without a word, without another entreaty, without saying farewell. Part of her shivered, as another part felt a spark of anger.

_Thanks, Jedi Masters,_ she thought at their retreating backs. _Thanks for all your help and useless advice. Thanks for your offer to just mindwipe me again. As always, you've been a great help._

General Sand came forward; his hands spread open in a gesture of peace.

We need to talk," he said. "To speak frankly. Before we – well, there's a few things we must resolve."

The Seroccan had a kind face. His voice was almost familiar. His hair was iron-gray and receding. His weathered features shifted, as if seen through a haze of blue.

The world tilted; it felt like she was floating.

_Bacta tank. Pain in her head, blinding. Like an explosion. And an anger so hot that it was the only thing left._

"_And this is the great hope of the Republic. This is what it all comes down to. She's nothing more than an animal now. Just like the rest of them."_

_He turned and looked at the dark-haired girl standing next to him. Her blue-violet eyes were full of tears and she was biting her lip._

_Bastila spoke. "If the Fleet will give up custody to the Council, we can salvage . . . something from this. In her mind is the source of Malak's power. If you release her to us . . ."_

_The General's kind face hardened with lines carved from stone. "Do what you must, Jedi." He turned his back. "She was never one of ours."_

"No one ever knew why Fett Cassus Lin chose to meet you in single combat, Revan," General Sand continued. "But there were rumors."

"There are always rumors," Revan muttered. She refused to blink her eyes or look disoriented.

_Cassus must have had no choice. It was an internal clan challenge. I was Lin. I used their own laws against them._

"Why are you really here, Revan?" Rew Ekkumi said flatly.

"Ordo promised me . . . clemency." She made her voice hard. "I didn't realize they were Lin's lap-hound."

"You're not the Mandalorian's prisoner, stop fencing with us." General Sand's eyes were as hard as stones.

"I'm here for Carth," Revan swallowed.

Canderous had moved to flank them. Oerin was perfectly still on her other side. If she could turn her head she expected she'd see his usual bored, blank face. Behind them Headwoman Catrinex gave out a small impatient sigh and muttered something untranslatable in Mandalorian.

"What are your plans?" General Sand asked her frankly.

Corporal — _no, General — he's a General now — _Jiya Sand was the more dangerous one. He knew something about Mandalorian culture, and perhaps part of what it was still necessary to hide. If she was known to be Lin, the Senate would not accept Oerin. Rew knew less — that was obvious by the confusion in her expression, the twist of something that might even have been jealousy — _she was Carth's lover, how long, how could he — _the rational part of her mind slammed down on those thoughts like an airlock closing.

It was something they'd avoided talking about these past few days.

"I want what's mine," Revan said.

"Is this a threat?" Rew Ekkumi looked at her with a mixture of jealousy and strange admiration. The admiration was the worst.

_How can she admire me after what I've done? What have I done? What did I do?_

"You still have a great deal of respect, among many in the Fleet," Jiya Sand said. "When you tried to recruit me I was tempted, as many were. You made a compelling case, you and Malak. The Republic at the time was a corrupt beast, and there were many who believed that the way to resolve that was to rebuild a new order on the ashes of the old. Is that still your intention, Jedi Knight Revan?"

Revan didn't know this person he was addressing. She tried to find some part of her in her mind and found nothing.

"I have no military ambitions," she said quietly.

"And yet, you have allied yourself with at least one . . . Mandalorian clan," the Seroccan replied.

_Meaning you know it's really two. Two clans, not one. Lin and Ordo both. So Fleet knows. The Jedi know, the Fleet know, D'Reev knows . . . _Her stomach sank. _This isn't going to work._

"Are you Sith or not?" Rew asked flatly. "Is it true you remember nothing of your former life?"

"Fragments, nothing more. I don't remember the wars. I — I know I met you, Corp — _General_ Sand —" the man's mouth almost smiled at her hesitant correction; "I remember very little of what I once was." She took a deep breath. "I don't want to be that person again."

"What really happened at the Star Forge, Revan?" General Sand's voice was soft. Deceptive concern.

_I don't want to remember that._

"She killed Malak," Carth answered for her. Revan half-turned to look at him. His brown eyes were blank, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. Whatever he really thought, he wasn't going to say it now. Not here.

"What really happened to Bastila?" For a disconnected moment she saw General Sand's face again, through that strange blue light — _bacta tank — _and she was screaming and beating her fists against the field that separated them.

"I killed her." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Canderous wince.

_I-I shouldn't have just said that. Tact. Be tactful. Well, frack it. Go on the offensive. Don't let your emotions cloud this. Use what you know against them. _

"When I was captured on my flagship, you were there, General Sand. There was never any trial."

"You were hardly in a position to speak in your own defense," Jiya said, eyes narrowing.

"Perhaps not, but the legality of your actions was . . . questionable," Revan raised her eyebrows.

"Yes," General Sand acknowledged, voice careful. "Were certain things publicly known, is would be disastrous for the Fleet's image. The Jedi Council too, would suffer. Is that your intention?"

"My intentions are . . . a personal concern."

"A person like you does not have the luxury of personal concerns, Revan." The Trandoshan's cheek ridges pulled back, exposing her sharp heavy teeth in an expression that could be an ironic smile. Or a snarl.

"What is Malachi D'Reev's interest in you, Revan?" Ekkumi's voice was cool.

Revan swallowed. "I killed his son. Perhaps it's revenge."

"I don't think so." The woman's eyes scanned her face. _I've underestimated her. _"We have new orders," she added, carefully. "Curious orders, all things considered. There's been a change in plan."

"A change?" Oerin Lin pushed forward, HK clanking behind him. "This is unacceptable. My appointment was set weeks in advance. I demand that the Senate hear my case now. Today. _Immediately_." He folded his arms and glared.

"Save your outrage for the media, kid," the Admiral muttered. "You have nothing to whine about. The Senate will hear the Mandalorian plea today. You — " she jerked her head, indicating Oerin. "Ordo, and the old woman are to go to the penitent's chamber and wait your turn. Carth Onasi and _she_ are to proceed to the Senator's Walk. From there, you'll be CoruSec's problem, not mine."

"Senator's Walk," Revan echoed. She made the puzzled frown she felt knitting her brows vanish.

HK gave a happy sigh. "Senator's Walk. Oh, Master. I spent some very happy moments citing targets on that lovely verdant path. There is the Street of Winding Sighs, the Path of Falling Stars and the Meadow of Games. Naturally Senator Thomasi was not ranked as high as you, and so we were not accorded full privileges; but still, I enjoyed performing my function there very, very much." Her droid clanked, "I presume I will be allowed to accompany my Master, Admiral Meatbag Rensha?"

"Senator's Walk?" Revan tried to shake her head and the collar stopped her again. She tried not to flap her bound hands uselessly. _Stay calm. Pretend that you understand and maybe it will all become clear._ _Or granslugs will fly . . . _

There was a long silence, as if the Fleet brass were waiting for more of a response. Revan had none.

"Because of my rank . . ." she offered finally. "Carth and I are to proceed to Senator's Walk." _My rank? My rank in the Fleet? No, that can't be it. My rank as a Jedi? No . . . then it must be . . . squelch the hope, it can't be this easy, it can't be this easy . . . and if it is this easy, it's only because it's some kind of trap._

"Captain Onasi is granted consort status, unofficially, until such a time as your union is either negated or registered formally under Coruscanti law." Rew's face was blank. "As is your other husband, Canderous Ordo. However, General Ordo's presence has been specifically denied by the D'Reev First. Naturally, you must comply with his wishes in this request."

_D'Reev First . . . _"Senator D'Reev is expecting me?" _Keep your voice calm. Make it not a question. _

Rew nodded. "Congratulations. We have just received word. Malachi Ignatus Estrichon Anwat D'Reev formally recognizes you as his lawful heir. Your claim is validated by your marriage to his son, Malak Ingatium Qel'Riada Ingatus D'Reev." Her dark eyebrows rose and her voice continued, dulcet and careful as glass. "— As proven by your living issue, Malachor Vrook Cassus Ulic Lin D'Reev."

"Oh," Revan whispered. The word just slipped out. _So you know._

"I'm sure you'll have much to discuss with the Senator, while the Mandalorian sovereignty is being put to the vote," Admiral Rensha added.

Captain Ekkumi just looked at her. Her face twisted, then resumed its calm exterior. She stepped forward stiffly and unfastened the restraints that bound Carth's hands. Then Canderous' and then finally, Revan's.

Revan tried to remain calm as the woman disabled the plates on her wrist. Rew Ekkumi's voice was cool in her ear.

"I've heard that the view from a Coruscant Senator's box is truly spectacular. I'm sure you'll enjoy it. But a word of caution: try not to fall. And if you hurt Carth in any way, shape, or form, I'll find a way to assassinate you myself."

Revan jerked her chin in something that would have been a nod, except for the collar. Rew Ekkumi made no move to remove that.

Freed from their false restraints, Carth's hand reached for hers. She didn't need the Force to read his expression. _This is a trap._

_I knew it would be. I always knew it would be. It's just a different cage than I expected. The more the plan changes . . . the more the game remains the same._

_XXX_

_Mission Vao_

"Give him another injection: two parts adrenal stimulant to three point nine parts cortical sedative." That had worked before.

Mission cursed her lack of limbs as she watched Millifar Ordo measure the dosages out in the stim gun from the receivers in Mekel's collar. Her own voice crackled over the troop carrier's speakers. This should bring Mekel out of it, but if it was like every other time he'd be a wreck, and not good for much Force-wise for at least a few hours. His pulse jumped on her monitors, and she felt his optical nerves twitching under closed lids through the collar.

Mission didn't think Sith-wannabe knew how much she'd managed to link into his autonomic nervous system. Rulan Prolik's physiology had been too complicated to mimic; but human systems were simple, once she had access to the Mandalorian medical lab. Just a little nanotech and there she was, under his skin.

The nanotech told her a lot; both about him and about their surroundings. In some ways, it was almost like having a vestige of her own body back. But his thoughts, and where ever Mekel's mind went when he had these fits was completely opaque. His thoughts were nothing that she could measure. She suspected this all had something to do with the Force. Possibly some battle his mind imagined that it fought between dark and light, or whatever. Force-users were remarkably susceptible to making star destroyers out of space dust, she'd noticed this before.

Whenever she asked him about it, which was often, he just shut up completely.

_-- Time to wake up, Mekel Jin. Come on, we're almost here. -- _

His muscles twitched at the sound of her voice. "Dustil," he muttered. "Please. Let me go . . . I-I'll talk to him . . . " His eyes fluttered.

The troop carrier circled in a lazy spiral down to the Fleet hangar bay. It wasn't the only one, although it was the only one full of Mandalorians wearing robes and not Republic soldiers in full kit. Geez, to see all of this mobilization, you'd think the Coruscantis were actually expecting another invasion.

_-- Dustil? Are you talking to Dustil? Wake up, Mekk! -- _

"Blue --" His body twitched. Millifar peered over him -- over them, golden braids falling over his face. Mekel's skin flushed with increased circulatory response in a really annoying predictable way.

"Hello Milli," he whispered. His mouth registered a distinct lack of moisture.

"Mekel Jin," the Mandalorian girl said, gravely. "Can you stand up? We need you to speak with the barbarian soldiers outside. The computer can tell you what to say."

"Can you tell what Oerin is doing now?" Gwenarius broke in impatiently.

_-- Are you talking to Dustil? Did you talk to Dustil? –_ Mission added her own question to the Mandalorian's barrage. Something occurred to her. A missed connection, like a skipped synapse or a bad circuit. _-- When you have these fits, are they connected with Dustil and that Force-bond thing? -- _

Mekel didn't answer her, but the resultant turmoil in his systems was answer enough. Was he trying to protect her in some kind of misguided chivalric effort? Yeah, so Sithboy hated her. So what? Mission was over it. Mostly. Getting over things wasn't that hard. You just needed to focus on other things.

And, banthaspit, it wasn't like she didn't have plenty of other things to focus on.

_Portside in a hangar bay, one blue disc ship in a row of brightly colored disc ships hummed to life again, bouncing coded transmissions on an FTL frequency across the stars._

If felt good after weeks of hiding herself to finally expand her consciousness across a proper number of bytes and processors again. Mission bounced the signals off Yavin – after all start with the familiar – and through that, tapped into several hundred other data depots on the Outer Rim to cover her tracks.

_On the Coruscant Exchange floor, shares in I.E., Ltd. split. An unnamed buyer with an Alderaanian account had their net worth double in sixty seconds. _

_On Deralia, a routine request came through for marriage records. Polla Organa to a Seiran, surname unknown. The response filtered through and spat back. Surname Wen: address, Glory Road Farm, Adaston. _

_On Glory Road Farm, a commlink rang, but no one was home to answer it. _

_-- Look, chuba brain, if you're talking to Dustil I need to know about it. He's with D'Reev; he might know something that we can use. – _

It was a waste really, all this power for such a simple exercise. Of course she had other stuff to do too.

_On Kashyyyk, deep in the forest, the ancient console hummed softly, garlanded with flowers. The area around it had been cleared of trees; and the Wookiees engaged in training exercises in the newly-made field paused for a moment. Then they all knelt, singing the song of devotions to the morning sun – the symbol of promise and of empire yet to come._

_Somewhere in the Coruscant Senate complex, a maintenance mainframe was barraged with a billion nonsensical queries. As a routine safety measure, it shut down for thirty seconds to reboot._

"Dustil doesn't know anything," Mekel muttered. "Y-you should stop thinking about him, Blue."

_-- Are you jealous, Mekk? – _At this point, lost in the dance of bytes and bits, the concept seemed laughably small; but you had to account for organic weakness.

Sith-wannabe didn't answer her. The nanocircuitry registered distress.

The silver troop carrier slipped easily into the hangar bay.

_On Manaan, Mission's conversation with the Zabrak who answered the commlink number that Rulan had given her weeks ago was pretty evasive, but when you read between the lines, what Hulas' replacement didn't say was pretty interesting. All in all it was a relief to hear. Having a potential threat to your plans eliminated by another potential threat felt like fate or destiny. And it meant that Mission could continue to focus on more important things._

_On Deralia, the commlink rang again. But no one was home to answer it._

_The Senate complex's mainframe hummed to life again, and she slipped inside, a bright spark in a dance of circuits. Troops had been rerouted, and there was a startling request from the Chancellor's office. A request for delays in the Mandalorian case, while House D'Reev sorted out its succession._

_On the surface it looked like they'd won the battle before even starting._

_She had to assume that meant things were worse than she'd thought._

_On Deralia, the commlink rang again. But no one was home to answer it._

_The Outlier colonies have two hundred different ways to say poo doo. Mission began cycling through them one-by-one._

_XXX_

_Polla Organa_

Seiran, stiff in a formal black suit, got out of the speeder and came around to open her side of the door. Polla juggled the bundle of lilies and her son, and slid out of the speeder. She was getting her balance back finally after months of being a bloated weenka. Her good shoes sank slightly in the mud and she winced. Oh well. _Auntie Mita never minded a little mud. And it's not like Ma ever notices._ The familiar smells of kissra feed and fertilizer wafted over them. They were late of course, and Ma would probably give her a lecture about that too.

Her husband offered her his arm and she took it. They made their way to the front door. Polla touched her lips to the green funeral wreath, and then stood back while Seiran did the same.

In the living room, there was the plain jekwood box, covered with flowers. Covered with Derran lilies to be exact. The citrus scent was almost overwhelming at such close proximity. Other, more cultivated bouquets were scattered around: splashes of blue and orange and red and lilac; but none as voluminous or overpowering as that blanket of waxen white petals, and their pale, almost translucent stems.

"Oh dear," Molla Organa sighed, coming over and taking Junior from her. "You brought more? I can't believe you had the florist deliver this many already . . . I hope he owed you a favor, dear, from your smuggling days--because I don't want to think how much this must have cost, delivering half a freighter bay full of weeds . . . "

"I picked these flowers this morning," Polla said indignantly. "What the frack --" she glanced at Auntie Mita's coffin nervously -- in life the old woman had always told her not to say 'frack' – "_say 'feck,' dear, it's much more direct. "-- _are you talking about, Ma?"

"I had them load most in the barn," her mother continued. "They'll keep for months, and I guess we can scatter them on her grave too. You bought enough to cover the entire cemetery." Molla' s cool hand felt her daughter's forehead. "Pollie, are you feeling alright, dear? You seemed so quiet last night when you called. I know I said to get flowers, but there was no need for you to overreact like this . . . what did she say to you?"

"What did who say to me, when?" The guests and family and cousins and various ancient members of Auntie Mita's grange club were in the shearing shed that her parents converted to a dining hall for large family gatherings. She could hear the snatch of a reel through the open window.

"Junior and I are going to find some food," Seiran interjected hastily, coming forward and taking their son back from Molla's arms. "I'll leave you two to it, remember, Poll' -- don't throw things at your Ma. Not at a funeral, okay?" He gave her a half-smile that meant he was mostly joking and left them alone.

"Pretty blanket you've swaddled the baby in," her mother observed, watching them leave. "Don't you think he'll be hot?"

"It's self-cooling," Polla said.

"La di dah . . ." Her mother made a face. "Fancy." She rolled her eyes.

Polla walked over to Auntie Mita's coffin and began arranging _her_ flowers on top of the ones that someone else had already put there. Those were florist-cut; you could tell by the evenness of the stems and the slight bruising of the petals. But there were a lot of them. _Well quality counts, _she thought stubbornly, layering her paltry dozen over the pile.

"In your dream last night, what did Auntie Mita say?"

"Huh?"

Molla sighed patiently. "Pollie, if you don't want to talk about it . . . I'll understand. But when you call me at oh-three-hundred, refuse to link visual, and then overreact like this with the flowers . . . I worry. That's all." She touched her daughter's arm, tentative. "You know, it's okay to be sad, dear."

Polla closed her eyes. "I was sad," she admitted. "Then I went down to the lake and picked these lilies and thought about everything that Auntie Mita ever said to me. And then I felt better. I felt like she was here, somehow. Or something. Anyways . . . I didn't call you, and I didn't order from a florist. Why would I, Ma? Damn things grow wild all over our property. Seiran dredges the lake every spring to stop it from turning into bog because of their roots. But . . . they're pretty. And they do remind me of her. You know, Auntie Mita told me once that Organa women are like Derran lilies?"

Molla Organa smiled sadly. "I can imagine her saying something like that." She reached out and touched her daughter's shoulder. "You really didn't call, dear?"

"I really didn't call. These are probably from some cousin that's gone offworld or something with more credits than sense. And you probably dreamed me calling. Wishful thinking. I'm a big girl now, Ma. I don't call you every time I have a nightmare or can't sleep . . ." Polla shrugged and gave her mother a smile. "I just bug the hell out of Sei instead."

"Mmm . . ." Molla Organa looked thoughtful.

Polla sighed, impatient. "What is it, Ma? What?" Seriously, sometimes her mother's entire existence seemed to be focused on making her feel guilty for things she hadn't done.

"Nothing, dear. Do you want to help Bolts in the kitchen, or save your father from Mita's grange friends? They've already opened the first cask of ferra grass wine. And you know how they get. Jasp is probably chewing on his own arm at this point."

Polla made a face. "I just want to sit here for a sec with Auntie Mita. Is that okay?"

"Of course." Her mother looked distracted. "I'll be in the kitchen. Come get me when you've finished saying good-bye."

_Good night, Auntie Mita,_ Polla thought to herself, kneeling before the coffin. She rested her head against its surface, breathing in the scent of flowers. Her hands rested lightly on the wooden surface. _Most wonderful busybody interfering wisest aunt in the galaxy. . . _

_XXX_

_Leeshansintina Evalyn Arabel Racharn III ("Leesa")_

Leesa dangled her legs over the side of the Steps of Golden Promise, looking out over the Meadow of Games. Mother would probably kill her if she found out she'd skipped out of the Observatory, but Mother was rather distracted at the moment. _And what Mother never finds out, won't kill me._

She tapped the comm on her wrist, and her little sister's face swam into view, tear-stained and splotchy. Leeshy had no dignity at all — when Leesa had been that age her same face had never looked so undignified. Inwardly, she sniffed in disdain, but on the surface she gave her sib an earnest comforting smile.

"Mummy failed," Leesa said. "Your little friend's still alive."

Leeshy made no attempt at poise, or the appropriate regret suitable when one's House played and lost badly. "R-really?" Her mouth opened in a wide smile, effect somewhat spoiled by her missing teeth. "S-so Korrie's okay?"

"D'Reev requested a one-day ceasefire. If I were you I'd be more concerned about what will happen to me and Mother and Lee'a when it goes off again. The old bastard's going to hit us back, you know. And they were saying in the Amaltine's lounge that he's recognized _Revan, _now. So, if _he_ doesn't kill her first . . . we're going to have the Dark Lord of the Sith gunning for our blood. It's all very well for you, sib—you're an Eg . . . me and Lee are fair game." Leesa made her voice sound appropriately concerned. Although actually, she was kind of thrilled. _Besides, odds are, they'll take out Lee. Which will make me Second._

Once upon a time, there had been five perfect copies of Senator Leeshansintina Evalyn Arabel Racharn I. Now there were only three.

"Maybe Revan will just kill _him,_" her little sib said, darkly. "And she's not the Dark Lord of the Sith! Korrie says – "

"Korrie says this. Korrie says that. Honestly, Leeshy – there's no future in D'Reev. You should worry about _Racharn_'s fortune." Leesa swung her legs back and forth over the hundred-meter drop, keeping an eye out for other Ams. Senate session had been delayed due to this D'Reev thing, and if she was any judge, some of the crew would be along shortly to wish her luck. In some ways, the ceasefire was a relief. Now that it was out in the open, no other House could make a move against them for the duration.

Down below, she spied a figure in guest gray, making its way up the winding steps. Still too far off to tell whose colors they wore on their collar, and above her head, the dome's refraction half blinded her anyways. She lowered her visor and upped the resolution.

_Black and red . . ._

_Shit, the old man actually has friends? Or is that one of Revan's pet Mandalorians? By the Game, Mother would kill me if she knew I was just sitting here like a granslug on a log. . ._

The figure came closer. Dark hair, pretty cute, nice bod under the robes – her mouth gaped open for a sec and she totally almost screamed in surprise.

"Hey, Dustil!" She scrambled to her feet. Maybe jumping up and down was undignified on the Senator's Walk. Leesa stopped doing it.

"Who are you talking to?" chirped the voice from her wrist. _Oops._ Leesa flipped off the commlink.

Dustil Onasi cupped his hand up, shading off the glare, peering up at her. "Hello," he called back, voice cautious.

Despite the potential seriousness of the situation – accidents, after all, were known to happen during a ceasefire and she was standing on the edge of a very long drop – Leesa giggled.

Dustil came closer, frowning at her, with that cute wrinkle between his dark eyebrows. He looked more tortured than ever. Leesa stepped back from the ledge.

"Leeshansintina," he said, stopping a few steps below her on the stairs.

"We're friends," she reminded him. The fact that he knew her full name was a good sign. Maybe he'd been asking around. "You can just call me Leesa, I told you that the other night. Wow, so – that night, right after you left the news started coming in about your father and Revan Starfire! I couldn't believe it, I mean there I was talking to you and everything and then – bam, suddenly, I mean it's like – your father married _Revan –_ and so now . . ."

He was sort of glaring at her, and Leesa hastily began to backtrack. "The games won't affect you or anything – or your father – it's just a matter between houses – um, so we're still friends, right?"

His hand moved to his waist. He had something under those robes. And not in a cute joke sort of way. _D'Reev lets him run around armed? Wow. _Leesa was totally amazed. "Which one are you?" he asked. "Which number?"

"Three – third." Leesa wondered if that would impress him.

"Safer than Second," he replied. "Leeta is still Second?"

"Leeta's dead. Like, six years ago . . . where'd you hear about her?" Leesa was really confused.

"Malachi mentioned her," Dustil answered. Really casual. 'Malachi.' Like they were friends! "He was uh, talking to me about how close D'Reev and Racharn were, once. Back when Leeta and Malak were Eg's."

Leesa shrugged. "Times change."

"Yes," Dustil nodded. "They do."

"So, are you here with the old man or with _her?"_

"I was there, in the cruiser when your mother's drones hit D'Reev," he answered. His eyes were sooo dark and brooding. They almost burned. Leesa felt herself blush.

"Oh. Well, you didn't get caught in any crossfire so it's – "

He cocked his head at her. The way he looked, tense, drawn, pale – it was so dreamy, and yet, Leesa felt a twinge of caution. "You look like Leeta," he said, almost absently. "Of course you do, bloody clones . . . how did she die?"

"Huh?"

"Nevermind, I – saw a picture of her once. With Malak. You're older, though. She was eleven. In the picture, I mean." He took a deep breath, clenching his fists and then letting them go. "I don't really like the red hair," he added. "Not on you. Hers was brown."

If a normal person dared say something like that, Leesa would probably kick him; but this was _Dustil Onasi_, after all, and you know, when you thought about it, it was pretty tragic that their houses were about to be at war – even if it wasn't his house exactly, since he wasn't a D'Reev – it was okay. Hell, she'd dye her hair blue if she could get him to smile.

"It's a really plain brown," she answered. "Too ordinary."

He smiled slightly. It was an awkward smile, too wide for his mouth. "You'll never be ordinary."

"True." She felt herself blushing under the intensity of his gaze.

"If you were First, would you let the D'Reev match continue?"

The baldness of the question shocked her to her shoes. If he'd been, like really one of them, the implications of it would be . . . well, pretty interesting.

"I'm not First," she said lightly, after the silence went on too long. His eyes were locked on hers. It was like he was watching her every expression. Like he could read her like a datapad. She was blushing again, and that finally made him look away.

"You like him. You like Malachor." It wasn't quite a question.

"Well, he's just one of Leeshy's friends . . . he's okay I guess, for a natural-born. D'Reevs are weird about that. I mean, diluting the gene pool – seems to have given them some bad luck, you know?"

"Every House has its traditions," he shrugged. Like _he _knew anything about it at all.

"Yeah, but . . . their pet Jedi breeding thing kinda backfired, don't you think?"

"I guess it did."

"I heard Malak's mother was this witch-woman from Donovia –"

"Dathomir," he corrected her, turning his head away and looking past her. On the plain below them three more figures, in a grav lift. Leesa adjusted her visor.

"Whoa." She adjusted the resolution a little more. A bright spark of silver flashed off the woman's heavy collar. The man piloting the lift wore a shimmering Republic uniform. Behind them loomed a shap. A very distinctive shap. "Oh my gods, hey Dustil – that's – _them!"_

Okay, if she admitted it to herself, _that_ was really why she'd been hanging out on the steps. When Aramis said that Revan and Carth Onasi were scheduled to make the walk, Leesa had slipped away from the observatory and stealthed her way here a-sap. Because, even if there was this new game and stuff, before that – Revan had been the coolest. She'd been really little, barely out of Eg-hood when everything went sideways, but before that she remembered hearing things – rumors about this girl from Hoth made good with the Senator's son. And the Jedi! And then the wars! It was really romantic, when you knew the facts. Almost as romantic as Revan and Carth. The fact that it had been such a huge secret didn't hurt either.

The heroes of the Star Forge were ascending the steps pretty fast. She watched Captain Carth Onasi's face recognize Dustil, watch his lips move as he said something to the woman beside him. Revan's expression was taunt, focused, almost distracted, but as Leesa watched, she pasted a smile on it.

Beside her, Dustil stiffened. "Here goes nothing," he muttered.

"You and your father will have to go to the Observatory," Leesa told him. "The Senators and heirs up to Fourth are allowed in Chambers . . . but I'm not going today. Oberserv's a lot more fun, really. You'll like it . . . maybe you could sit with me and Aramis?"

He glanced at her. "Shouldn't you – run along now? Isn't this a bit dangerous for you?" He looked almost relieved to be looking at her again and not his father.

_Maybe they don't get along? Is that why he's so gloomy?_

"Dustil!" The Captain called out. His smile was beautiful. Real shame Dustil hadn't inherited it.

"Cease-fire will hold," Leesa told him. Wow. That was Revan. That was really Revan! She looked – taller than she did on the vids. And her hair was really that bright natural red color. She tugged at her own dyed locks self-consciously. She was going to meet _Revan._

" -- and here, Master, is where Senator Thomasi had me ambush three representatives from Berchest. Upon ascent, many sentients become dizzy. I small vial of nerve toxin in the air increased this sensation, and so they fell to their deaths. They made a very large splat on the green grass below. Rather like a painting, as their squishy insides became part of the organic landscape in a glorious splatter of red against the green – "

"Shut the hell up, HK," Captain Onasi said. At his side, Revan fidgeted. She looked unarmed, but of course, she was _Revan _so who knew?

"Objection: I do not take orders from meatbag husbands. Lest you forget, Captain Flyboy, organic spouses may run a high risk of fatality in her company; whereas I persevere –"

"Cease, HK," Revan murmured. "Shut the hell up, like Carth told you." _That voice. It was like, so really her. _Her shap cut out with a sullen clank

"Dustil." The grav lift hovered and Carth Onasi stepped out of it, and caught his son in a rough hug. Revan followed behind, cupping her hand up to look to the stop of the steps. Beyond that was the Gate of Silver Justice and the entrance to Chambers.

"It's really cool to meet you both," Leesa said. Then she kicked herself a thousand times, because that wasn't the appropriate thing to say. At all. Especially now.

"I should have known you'd end up chatting with a beautiful woman at a time like this," Carth Onasi beamed his son. "Dustil, I was so worried – are you okay?"

Dustil nodded. His father peered at him, with a slight frown on his face.

Leesa found her professional Third of Racharn voice again. Somehow. She smiled nervously at Revan. "In this time of enforced peace, I welcome you, D'Reev Second. I welcome you to the Game." She bobbed a quick Coruscanti curtsey. "I am Leeshansintina Evalyn Arabel Racharn, Third."

"Racharn. House Racharn." Green eyes examined her. "Did D'Reev send you to provide escort?" She looked like she was trying to say the right thing, but it was of course the totally _wrong_ thing. The woman frowned. "Call me D'Reev _First. _Malachi's term has expired."

"Well that's something up to the vote . . . not my concern. Um . . . I just really wanted to see you and stuff before the games start again." Leesa cursed herself for being a total idiot. "I'm . . . like, a big fan. Of both of you."

A faint smile crossed Revan's face and her eyes passed over Leesa, rested on the Onasis. "I got the impression that you were," she murmured absently. "It's good to see you, again, Dustil," she called out. The Dark Lord of the Sith looked almost -- nervous. "We've been so worried. Mekel says he can't reach you . . . there are ysalamiri in D'Reev's apartments, aren't there? Has D'Reev harmed you in any way?"

Leesa looked over at Dustil. He'd extricated himself from his father's embrace and was standing there, looking broody and wary and at anything but Revan. She felt a pang of sympathy. Mother's husbands were a total pita, most of the time. She'd had five, one after the other. The latest one was a real asshole. Leesa felt really uncomfortable being around him. And it must be worse when you like, actually had been made from two parents and were natural-born and stuff.

"Where's my son, Malachor — where's Korrie?" Revan corrected herself.

"Upstairs in Chambers." Dustil answered so low that you could barely hear him. His voice shifted. Leesa hadn't really noticed before, but now he was slurring his words, soft Telosian burr creeping into the enunciation. He swallowed. "Waiting for you." His hands were white-knuckled and clenched into fists.

"Statement: What a happy meatbag reunion, Master. Your Onasi meatbag husband is happily reunited with his meatbag son and all is, cloyingly, well. However, I would advise that you occupy your distracted and scattered organic thoughts with the House Racharn issue. I have just received word that there is a cease-fire, and I am not to use hostile force for the next twenty-seven hours."

Revan was staring up towards the gate as if none of the rest of them were there. "Huh?"

"Obvious Inference: If there was a cease-fire, there must have recently been an attack. This is why the Senator has recognized you. There is an old Coruscanti proverb: Keep your enemies close and use them to eviscerate your other enemies."

"What?" Revan's eyes widened, and Carth looked confused. _Oh shit, they didn't know . . . _Leesa edged away, closer to where her shap was stealthed. Accidents, after all, had been known to happen.

"Clarifying Statement: The actual proverb uses the word 'eliminate;' but I find that 'eviscerate' is really more appropriate. It adds the right nuance of metaphor, even when not taken literally. Of course, if you commanded me to take them literally I would be forced to comply. Would you like me to eviscerate this meatbag Racharn clone standing before us now? Please?" The droid paused, and its metallic eyes glinted a dark red. It whirred in something almost like a sigh. "Regrettably I must advise you that the consequence of breaking a ceasefire is total elimination of the House involved."

Leesa backed away. "CH, unstealth." Her shap obeyed. It was standing above her on the steps. She fumbled at her wrist to active her personal shields. _Shit, what have I gotten myself into?_

"House Racharn tried to assassinate the Senator?" Revan's red eyebrows lifted. She glanced at the droid, and then looked at Leesa. "Is this true?"

"No. Not Malachi. The attack was made against – against your son, Re – Revan." Dustil seemed to have a hard time saying her name. He closed his eyes. Game, he looked so noble and tragic. "I was there. I stopped it. "

Her face went white. Drained of color you could see faint lines under the surface of her skin. In the dappled golden light her features seemed etched in silver. Leesa felt a chill. _Dark Lord of the Sith. Here I am, standing next to a hundred meter drop with the Dark Lord of the Sith while she learns that my mother tried to kill her son . . . _

"He's not old enough to participate in the games!" Revan whirled and glared at her shap. "HK, you told me that!"

"Yes, Master. Normally that would be true. Obvious Conclusion: In order for Senator D'Reev to have a claim to the Mandalorian regency, Malachor must be formally recognized as his heir. By such recognition, his Eglatine status of immunity is dissolved."

"Mission didn't tell me, and you didn't tell me that was possible, HK." Revan's voice was dangerous.

It was like watching a hovercraft accident. Despite the potential risk to her own person, Leesa couldn't pull herself away.

"Objection: Master, in the lower circles of the aristocracy where the late Senator Thomasi traveled, it would not be possible. Such occurrences were rare, since the lesser Senators would lack the resources for protection. However, Senator Malachi D'Reev has an arsenal of defenses at his disposal. Sentimental Reassurance: I am sure that your meatbag father-in-law will let no harm come to your offspring. However, should some harm come to the Senator . . . do you still wish me to carry out the assassination protocols we discussed two point five weeks ago against Malachi D'Reev?"

Dustil made a noise in his throat. It sounded almost like laughter, or a sob. His father looked at him, frowning. "Son, are you all right? You look pale . . ."

He did look pale. Standing next to his father, you could really see it. There was a blue vein that fluttered on his temple, and dark shadows under his eyes like he'd been stimmed for a week.

"I expected them to move against _me_. Not my son." Revan's eyes settled on Leesa, and her lip curled in snarl that was almost feral. "_Your_ House did this. Your mother tried to kill my son!"

"Don't –" Dustil mumbled. He caught her arm that was curving into a fist, stepping between Leesa and the pissed off insane Dark Lord of the Sith. _"Don't," _he repeated, voice a little stronger now. "Leesa's just an Amaltine; she's not involved. Malachor's fine now. He's safe in Chambers. He's – he's waiting for you there. Go. Go to your son, Re-Revan." His hand holding hers was shaking. They were close to the same height and Revan looked at him as if she'd never seen him before. "Father and I – " he shot a look at Carth quickly, and then back to her. "_Dad_ and I will wait in the observatory. After the session . . . we'll see you after session." His voice dropped a little, but Leesa heard him just fine. Aural implants were a good thing to have, growing up in a family like hers. "Don't kill Malachi. Not yet. It's not safe for Mal."

"I want him ruined before he dies," she hissed back.

"Still single-minded." Dustil dropped her arm as if it burned. She looked at him, confused, then shook her head as if to clear it. "Go," he repeated. Follow the path, there's an archway. Guards there, they're expecting you. Go."

"Consolation: Master, we can always gut and torture the Amaltine Racharn later. Old Coruscanti proverb: Vengeance is a dish best served as a surprise. Although my programming advises me to accept times of enforced peace, after twenty-seven hours have passed, I will enjoy fulfilling my function for you very, very much. In keeping with the proverb, I recommend that we wait longer than twenty-seven hours to lull Racharn into a false sense of security . . ."

"Shut up, HK." Revan said something else, in a string of consonants that sounded like gibberish. Her shap answered her back with another string of gibberish.

"Nothing changes," Dustil muttered. He looked back at the older Onasi. "Ca -- Father. You can't — we can't -- we can't come. Do you understand?"

"HK explained that part," said the older Onasi, eyes narrowing. Captain Onasi walked over to Revan and kissed her, lightly. He gave her an encouraging smile. ""Go on, beautiful. Go on, Freckles. We'll be here. Waiting for you."

"Dustil?" Revan shook her head. Her hands tugged at the heavy collar. "Can you – can you get this off me? It's Force-locked. If you focus . . ."

"They won't let you in there without it. Nothing happens in Chambers. Go." Dustil's eyes dropped. "Malachi told me to tell you that," he added. "That you'll be safe. And – your son is there. Malachor. He's – he's there. Go. Don't do anything stupid. Just go." He swallowed hard. "Go see your son."

She cast one more confused glance at them and then the Dark Lord of the Sith got back in the lift followed by her shap, who was still babbling at her in more gibberish. With a whir, the craft started up the steps towards the Gate of Silver Justice.

Leesa's comm beeped. She glanced at her wrist. Aramis was paging her from the Observatory. "I've gotta go . . ." she began, and then realized how dumb it sounded.

Anyways, she might as well have been talking to thin air.

It was really pretty touching; the way Captain Onasi's chin trembled when he looked at his son. Like he was sensitive. A war hero who wasn't afraid to show his emotion. Wow. Dustil turned away from him and sat down on the steps. He put his head in hands. He might have even been crying.

Leesa couldn't wait to tell Aramis the whole thing. She'd totally squwoon.

XXX

_XXX_

_Revan_

Two CoruSec guards met her on the other side of the forcefield. The human, a man whose face looked older than his form, ran a scanner gingerly in the air around her and HK. His expression was carefully neutral, but the hands holding the scanner were white-knuckled. His companion, a green Twi'lek, stared at her with more open dislike. Revan noted the rifle he carried, not so casually, in his hands.

"She's clean," the human admitted grudgingly. "The droid too." Without taking his eyes off of her he backed away to a console by the door of the room. The room itself was sterile and featureless. Revan wasn't sure what she'd expected. Crystal ferraglass, More artificial parks, maybe. But the entrance to Senate Chambers was antiseptic and deliberately bland. The walls were white and the ceilings were vaulted.

"Put this on." The Twi'lek guard threw something black and folded to her and Revan caught it. A heavy piece of black cloth, slashed with red. _Imperial grade eridu, hand-woven, only the best._ It had red piping along the sides of it. She stared at it, uncertainly. The cloth was sewn into a loop, but it was too wide to be a belt.

"I'm sorry," she began, "I don't--"

"You're sorry? Hear that, Captain? _Revan's_ sorry."

"Don't, Lieutenant," the human said. His lips tightened. "It's a sash," he told her. "Sling it over your shoulder across your chest. Your house colors. _D'Reev._" He made the word sound like an expletive.

Revan did as he'd instructed, smoothing the silky fabric against the coarser weave of her Mandalorian robes. She tried to keep her face still, keep calm, let nothing show -- not the strange mixture of fear and anticipation, not the small flower of something like hope. _My son's here. Dustil said he was waiting for me. Whatever else, I'll see him, I'll see Malachor._

"On Dxun," the human captain said suddenly, "we waded through kilometers of jungle, waiting for fresh reinforcements. The Mandalorians had set up mines along the trail; half my squadron died. But the Jedi with us told us to keep going. Through the mines. We had the numbers, after all. After we set them off with our own bodies, some of us were bound to reach the other side." His hand was shaking a little, resting on the blaster in his holster. "I took offense, but she told me they'd had orders. Take a straight-on frontal assault right into the Mandalorian's main line of defense. Knock out their communications grids, disrupt their orbital receivers so that the rest of the Fleet could get through the Mandalorian net between us and Onderon."

"So we've met," Revan said. She looked at the floor, imagining a thousand meetings like this. _Hello, my name is Revan Starfire. I'm so sorry that I destroyed your life. Let's be friends. _"I'm sorry that I --"

"Sorry, you're sorry. No. The Jedi's name was Pando. Something Pando. Pretty girl, young. Wide-eyed and green as our Cally. She wasn't even supposed to be in charge. She was just there to link us to the Fleet, to our HQ. But she started giving us orders and the CO said we had to obey them. Even if they were suicide. The orders . . . came from above. From the Fleet's little miracle sitting somewhere above the atmo, safe on a flagship. Your orders. They didn't risk you groundside, not then. Didn't make you wade through your squad's guts running up a hill through the mud . . . do you know what happened, when we reached our target?"

Revan didn't remember any of it, but a sinking part of her mind silently supplied the answer. Tactically, it was the only thing that made sense. These were Mandalorians. _Lure them into a battle of sand, then blast them from the air and stars. We fired on them, from above. Bombed them all, Republic and Mandalorian alike. Maybe I thought that would make them stop. . . . _She shook her head trying to stop rationalizing it. "I'm sorry," she repeated out loud.

"It was the same thing you did at Malachor, pretty much. Malachor V. If I hadn't punched out my CO during the Weis assault, I'd have been there too. Almost everyone that was there died. So I'd be dead. Funny worlds."

_Clink of glasses and the murmur of soft conversation. The old man wanted to ask her a question. His eyes were so kind. Malak's hand was a feather touch on her arm and Revan felt like a princess in the white gown . . . _

"Erik," the Twi'lek said. "Don't bother."

"Fate just keeps bringing me back to D'Reev. The old man, the kid, and now you." The captain's commlink chimed and he glanced at his wrist. "They're ready now. Expecting you. Go right on in."

"_Do you mind if I ask you a question, Revan Starfire? My son and I play a little game sometimes. I suppose the Jedi have similar games. Scenarios. It's just a little test."_

_She smiled at the old man. He looked so careworn, with the fate of the galaxy resting on those stooped shoulders. "Go ahead," she murmured, politely. _

"_The Republic is at peace. With no external threat, all sentients become complacent. And so your empire stagnates. Graft, corruption, civil unrest are inevitable. Systems secede; economic disasters follow. What would you do, little Jedi? How would you stop it?"_

"I'm --" In the present, Revan tried to explain, tried to silence the fragment that was less than a memory.

_Clink of glasses and the murmur of soft conversation._

"_Give them a cause to believe in," Malak said. His hand tightened on her arm. "Religion, or an ideology. A vision of a united Republic. A utopia worth striving for where all sentients live in peace . . ."_

_The old man scowled at his son, then turned and smiled at Revan again._

"_I _know_ what_ your_ answer is, son. I'm curious to hear your friend's response. I've heard so much about you, Revan Starfire."_

Revan tried to find words again. "I'm sorr—"

The Captain -- Erik -- let out a bark of laughter. "Doesn't really matter. You Jedi are all the same. Makes no difference to us peons who fight your wars with our own sweat and guts and blood."

There was nothing to say. Revan straightened the sash across her chest, keeping her head high and walked through the door that had opened in front of her. Blessedly silent for once, HK clanked on behind her.

_In her mind again the clink of glasses and the murmur of soft conversation._

"_Give them a cause," her fourteen-year old self's voice was clear and decisive. "But the galaxy is large, and sentients have different goals. Different religions. Different ideologies . . ."_

"_Indeed," said Malachi D'Reev. He gave her a kindly smile and she felt a flush of pride. Malak was scowling at her and shaking his head. He ran a hand through his brown curls and rolled his eyes._

"_Give them a cause," fourteen-year old Revan repeated. "One that everyone can respect. Not religion. Not philosophy." She frowned. "Historically, the Republic has been most united in times of --"_

"_Do go on," the old man beamed. _

" _-- war," Revan shrugged. "An external threat. Something that endangers every sentient." She shrugged again. "But the Republic is at peace. There hasn't been anything to challenge it in more than thirty years . . ." _

_Across the room the Bithan musicians began playing a three-part fugue. Her feet tapped in time with the music. The glass of champa she'd drunk made her head spin in a pleasant haze. She leaned against Malak, smiling at his father, pleasantly. Whatever war was, it was very far away from this._

"_Dance with me," her best friend murmured in her ear. "Frell my father, Revvie. Dance with me."_

_And then she and Malak spun in an old Coruscanti dance, like stars among the other – lesser — satellites._

XXX

_Mission Vao_

The way this had been supposed to work was, Malachi D'Reev would be greedy or stupid enough to accept Revan, because he'd want Malachor's claim to the Mandalorians. Then they could kill him with impunity. Of course, the old man would have his own resources, and Mission had prided herself on not underestimating that.

She had neglected to account for things Revan hadn't bothered to tell her.

Just because you were practically omnipotent, given enough circuits to hack into, didn't make you fracking omniscient.

She heard the news about the change in plans filtered through the security mainframe. Now, Mekel and the Mandalorians were standing in line to get into the public viewstation on the thirty-third tier of the Senate chambers. On the surface this latest wrinkle was good news – the old man had caved. Recognized Revan as his heir without any of the fanfare they'd expected.

But as a fourteen-year old Twi'lek growing up in Taris' undercity you learn not to take things at face value. Everyone has their own agenda. Like that schutta Lena Wee used to say: figure out the angles. Do the math.

You don't go from ruining someone's reputation on a galactic scale to welcoming them into the bosom of your family in one easy step. There had to be something going on.

There had to be something that the Senator knew – or thought he did.

If she had a stomach it would definitely be sinking because there was one really really easy card the Senator could play, if he knew about it.

She had to assume that he did.

_On Glory Road Farm, a commlink rang, but no one was home to answer it. _

Mekel was still a little unsteady on his feet. Millifar and Kex supported him on either side.

"This Force of yours seems more like a curse than a gift," Canderous' daughter said.

Mekel's skin receptors flushed again. If Mission had feet she would have kicked him.

XXX

_Revan_

Another guard waited outside the room. An Echani male, dressed in the CoruSec Senate livery, white on white. His uniform, hair and skin were all so close to the same shade that he almost seemed to melt into the wall.

"The Senate will be hearing the minor docket first," he told her. "Senator D'Reev has requested that the Mandalorian issue . . . and related other issues be delayed, to give his House time to deal with some internal . . . matters."

"Ah," Revan kept her face neutral. The featureless hallway wound in a spiral and their boots clattered on the cold stone floor. On either side, several arched doorways, all sealed. Two hovering drones, globular and black, trailed their progress.

"The Senator is fortunate that I was already here, to present his terms to you in person. Naturally, my organization has several representatives within the complex; but having a senior member of our . . . Order present his arrangement may stress its importance." He took her arm in a gesture that was almost familiar. Revan willed herself not to pull away, or flinch, or look confused. "I do also admit . . . a certain -- pleasure is derived from this opportunity to see you again."

"Statement: this meatbag is more than he appears, Master." She'd threatened HK with deactivation more than once since his helpful interjections on the stairs. Now, her droid almost sounded hesitant. Respectful.

"Silence until I say otherwise," she snapped at him in Rakatan. _Don't frack this up for me, HK._

Her blank smile froze and she turned back to the Echani. "So, we've met?" _Great, another one. Let me guess: did I bomb your planet? Destroy your way of life? Make you a widower? _Dark laughter welled from some place inside her soul. It was the only reaction she could have without falling down and giving up completely. _Malachor. Think of Malachor. My son. My son is here. Mine. My son . . . and people are trying to kill him. Keep him safe. Take him away from this. Get my son. _

"We met rather recently, in the grand scheme of things. On Kashyyyk."

_That_ was not what she'd expected. Her mind ran through possibilities, faces half-remembered of the Czerka Corporation employees, vendors -- but ---

"You said organization. Your organization . . . Czerka?" _No. _A part of her mind whispered. _Order. He said his order._

His head tilted and those pale eyes blinked. They had stopped in front of an archway with two doors. He touched the security panel set into one of them and it opened. Inside, a plain room, two chairs, a small table. "Have a seat, Revan." His thin lips pulled in a smile. "Would you prefer Lord Revan? Or Fett Lin?"

"Just Revan is fine." She went into the room and sat down on one of the chairs, folded her hands on her lap to keep them from pulling at the collar, tried to ignore the panic. HK clanked obediently behind her. Revan took a deep breath and hoped her guess was correct. "Should I call you . . . .Overseer?"

"We're not really much for titles, despite whatever Hulas might have told you. You know it's almost a pity that you didn't uncover my ruse back on Kashyyyk. If I had known, I could have offered you better terms than his . . ."

Her mind searched for a name, and found it. "You're Rulan. Rulan Prolik."

"Guilty." He nodded to her. "Of many things perhaps in this lifetime, but who can say what will happen in the next? Give my regards to your little ghost; I grew quite fond of her during our journey together."

_Little ghost . . ._" Mission told me you couldn't act outside of D'Reev interests," Revan began cautiously. "But also that you would not interfere."

"Those were our original terms, yes. The Senator contacted me an hour ago and asked for a -- renegotiation of his arrangement. I cautioned him that I'm not entirely sure -- what, with your old memory gone, and the rather clumsy example Hulas set regarding our methods -- that you have the proper respect for our Order. After all, threats only really work if they are threatening, don't you agree?" He gave her a thin-lipped smile.

"D'Reev interests are my interests, does Malachi --" _call him Malachi because it's familiar, it implies that you know him, even if you can't remember any fracking thing about it "--_ does Malachi expect me to be frightened of you?"

"I should, perhaps, elaborate on the original terms of our agreement, since you may not know." He gave her a thin smile. "That's the variable. You see, no one is really sure what you know and what you do not."

Revan gritted her teeth. "Just tell me, Rulan. Is it okay if I call you Rulan?" She let her voice drop to a threatening growl. "Would you prefer _Lord_ Rulan?"

The Genoharadan ignored her attempt at sarcasm. "There is an abbey on Dathomir whose operating expenses are entirely funded by D'Reev. In return, the Genoharadan do not accept any assignments concerning Malachor D'Reev, a child of eight. Your natural-born son. The nuns at the abbey are lovely people. _The Order of the Holy Nebula, _they call it." His pale eyes blinked.

"And this is the clause he wants to change? Is Malachi is threatening my son?" Her voice raised, and the Echani who was no Echani pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"Interesting, your reaction. You should know that the Senator is listening to this conversation. There's a live feed. So sad the way families grow apart, I think he worries that he doesn't really know you. Or your -- motives." He tapped his hand absently on his knee, and for a moment, his face _shifted, _and a half-familiar lined visage, hawk-like nose, and hooded eyes stared at her, coldly. The eyes -- now in this light a dark gray -- blinked at her again. "I should be blunt. Do you truly care for the child?"

_Shapeshifer, you knew Rulan was a shapeshifter. Don't panic. _"Malachor is my son." _Keep your voice steady._ _Don't say more than you have to._

"The Senator asked me to make sure that you are aware, the fact that he is _your_ son is precisely why Malachor's life is in danger now. Again, he is uncertain. We hardly have time to go through the intricacies of the Coruscanti great houses now . . . but you should be aware that House Racharn – that's another Senate house --"

"I -- met one of the Racharns -- on the Senator's Walk." Her voice hardened. "I heard. Racharn tried to kill Malachor. Today." _Keep your voice hard. _"And that's why we're here, isn't it?"

"I trust the Racharn caused you no offense?"

"None that was intentional." _Her hair was dyed red; I half thought she was going to ask us for autoprints and then have her droid shoot us. She was drooling all over my husband and his son. If Dustil hadn't stopped me, I – I don't know what I would have done. _"She was a kid -- a -- child. No offense -- but my son is not a pawn for Malachi's games!" _Use the scary voice. Sound decisive. _

"Hm, interesting."

_Don't try and strangle the shapeshifting Overseer of the Genoharadan unarmed, while wearing a neural disrupter in the middle of the most heavily-guarded complex on Coruscant . . ._

Rulan Prolik tapped his ear thoughtfully, and then continued. "I have been instructed to tell you the terms. There has been one significant alteration to our original contract with Malachi D'Reev. Should the Senator die or any way lose any of his faculties -- before his grandson's twenty-fifth birthday, (at twenty-five Senate heirs graduate from the Amaltine Academy to full adulthood, you understand), our organization has been paid to devote its considerable resources to Malachor's extermination." He paused. "The Senator did request that we try for a painless death. You'll find the man is not without some measure of compassion."

Pale eyes watched her reaction, very, very carefully. Revan tried very hard not to react at all. "And my death too, I'd assume?" she said finally, as lightly as she could.

_It's a bluff. It has to be._

"His original request stipulated this; but your computer's previous negotiation with me covered you, both of the Onasis, and all other survivors of the _Ebon Hawk _crew. A binding contract of non-interference. The Senator seemed saddened, but I may interject – also rather impressed -- that you had accounted for this possibility. Even without the non-interference clause, however, I'd give you some measure of odds against our efforts. You did, somewhat remarkably, evade our notice before. I hardly need to point this out to you, Revan, but I believe Malachi is counting on your unwillingness to risk Malachor in the same fashion."

_It has to be a bluff, but he's right. I can't risk it. What if it's not?_

"I suppose I'm not Malachi's only enemy. This . . . agreement would force me to protect him too."

_I can't be his only enemy. House Racharn is already moving against him. And he's been a Senator for a very, very long time._

A heavy eyebrow lifted. "I'm pleased you've retained a level of perceptiveness. Indeed, you are not his only enemy. Although, as an outside observer -- rather like an arbiter, one might say -- I find it fascinating, considering your history, that Malachi expects this to be an effective tactic. In the past sacrifice to achieve your goals was practically a trademark." He shrugged. "Then again, he has also asked me to offer the additional terms. You will replace Malachor as the D'Reev Second. The Senator has already registered you as such, as a gesture of good will. In return, you will not challenge D'Reev's right to the Senate seat, and, when Malachor enters the age of reason, Malachi will voluntarily step down in favor of his Third. In return, he offers you the vast resources of D'Reev interests for your own . . . designs, whatever they may be, as long as they do not jeopardize himself, his interests, or his heir."

_And there it is. The thisla treat . . . two thisla treats . . . he'll give me my son, and he'll give me power. So -- where's the stick? Is it Malachor's life or is there something more? This can't have been his original plan . . . what was his original plan? What does he think he has on me?_

"His term has expired." Revan pointed out. "Why should I wait on him?"_ Aside from the fact that an eight-year old against the Genoharadan stands less of a chance than the real Polla Organa on the Star Forge. . . _She did not bite her lip or look concerned, but it was an effort.

"I admire your efforts to dissemble, but D'Reev has already been informed by one of the Jedi council members that their analysis of your motivation rests entirely on the well-being of your child." Rulan shrugged. "Of course, you've fooled Jedi before, Lord Revan. But it seems to me that D'Reev is offering you power as well, should you choose to take it."

"Don't call me that," she snapped automatically. _Think, think. What's the catch. What's in the side deck, where's the stick?_

The shapeshifter spread his hands open palms upward in the universal gesture of peace. "My apologies."

"What's to stop me from just taking what I want?" _Make your voice cold and hard and don't think of him. Don't think of Malachor. Find out what D'Reev thinks he has on you._

The shapeshifter raised an eyebrow. "Sadly, I do not know. The Senator does not make my organization privy to _all _of his plans."

"Take me to him." Revan took a deep breath. "Now."

"The terms?"

"Acceptable." _Malachor._

"Witnessed." The shapeshifter's form shimmered into a nondescript human form, brown hair, brown eyes and brown skin. He got up from his chair and went to the far wall. Seamlessly it slid open, revealing a larger room.

The first thing she noticed was the shimmer of a blue forcefield.

And behind it, just like that, there he was.

_Malachor_

XXX

_Korrie D'Reev_

"You're going to get a burn standing so close to the field. Move away, stand up straight, and remember what I told you."

Grandfather was using that I'm-in-charge voice that once upon a time would have made Korrie do exactly what Grandfather wanted. Only now . . . things were different. Grandfather just didn't know it yet. Now . . . Mother was coming, and Father was here and they'd be together again for always, maybe -- even though when Korrie tried to get Father to promise that, Father just looked away and said that he was only trying to keep Korrie safe. No matter what, Korrie was not allowed to tell anyone that Dustil wasn't Dustil anymore. Korrie had wondered if Dustil was dead; but Father said no, Dustil was still there -- just sort of locked up in a faraway place.

Dustil had been mean, he'd destroyed Korrie's dolls and he'd said they weren't going to be brothers after all.

When Korrie was bad, grandfather sent him to his room -- so really, it was only fair. Dustil needed a timeout and Father needed a body to keep Korrie safe. It had all worked out perfect.

And if Father hadn't done what he'd done, Korrie would be dead. For real and for true. He looked at the faint pink mark on his arm again, where the dart had gone in. It had hurt alot, and then it had stopped hurting and all he'd seen was white light and warm and safe like feathers. For a second, he'd even thought he'd heard her singing to him again, but that must have been his maginashun; because even though she was coming and he knew this because Grandfather said so, Korrie couldn't feel her at all. He pressed his hand experimentally against the blue sparkly forcefield again. It tingled.

"Stop that," Grandfather sighed. "Sit in the chair, Malachor."

"You said if I was good you'd let me hug her."

"I said, possibly. Sit in the chair now." Korrie glanced back. Grandfather had the thoughtful expression on his face again. He wasn't really listening to Korrie at all. He tapped the receiver strapped to his ear again and smiled. Grandfather's scary I'm-in-charge smile.

"No," Korrie said. He'd figured it out himself, all by himself, and he didn't even need to ask Father if he was right. Grandfather needed him to be there to convince Mother of something. So really, no matter how terrible and bad Korrie was, Grandfather wasn't going to do anything about it.

"You're growing up." Grandfather almost looked proud.

"I'll be nine soon," Korrie reminded him. This would probably be the best birthday ever, because Father and Mother would both be here maybe -- except for Leeshy probably wouldn't be allowed to come. "Can you make up with House Racharn? Please? I want Leeshy to come to my party."

Grandfather made a rude noise through his nose. "Her mother tried to kill you. Don't you feel anger, fear, some desire to pay them back in kind?"

"It's important not to let anger cloud your desishuns," Korrie told him. That was what Father said, after Korrie got mad at Dustil for blowing up the dolls. "Anger leads to bad things."

Grandfather looked mean. "Who told you that?"

"Sidona," Korrie lied.

Grandfather frowned. "A year of Padawan training and my butler thinks she's a Jedi councilmember. Anger is just another thing to be controlled, Korrie. It's another tool, nothing more and nothing less."

Korrie grinned back. "Well maybe there are better tools then? Different ones?"

"Maybe," said a voice from the doorway on the other side of the forcefield.

And justlikethat there she was.

_Mother._

XXX

_Carth Onasi_

_Just stay calm, Onasi. It's a very long drop down. _Revan was out of sight now. She couldn't be walking into a trap -- or at least she couldn't be walking into a trap that they didn't already expect and, regardless, there was nothing he could do. The CoruSec had explained the rules very thoroughly at the entrance to Senator's Walk. They'd taken a swab from Revan's cheek. Anyone who wasn't genetically cleared to pass through to Chambers would be fried by the force field at the gate. _Pretty basic security. You're either in or you're out._

_This is what you fought all those battles for, Onasi. A bunch of elitist aristos who treat assassination like a game._

The Racharn tweener and her droid were almost down the steps now, disappearing into the mists of the artificial meadow. This compound, or park, or whatever it was, was hung like a ring at the top of the Senate chambers.

He and the boy were finally alone.

Carth reached into his pocket and pulled out the Mandalorian repeater that Canderous had given him. It was small and primitive and used metal slugs. The repeater had passed through the gamut of security scans undetected.

_You just let your wife walk into a trap unarmed and defenseless._

_Maybe, but the real question is . . . where's the real trap?_

The boy was sitting on the steps not looking at him, with his head buried in his hands. He didn't even flinch when Carth stuck the pistol in the back of his head.

"Don't move," Carth said. "Who – or _what_ are you and what have you done with my son?"

The boy's shoulders shook. It took Carth a moment to realize he was laughing.

"Where's my son?" Carth repeated, trying to keep his voice even. His finger tightened on the trigger.

"Your son is here, Captain." It wasn't Dustil's voice. Not even the bad imitation of Dustil's voice he'd used before. This voice was older, deeper – and, almost familiar. The voice made his skin crawl. "How did you know?'

Carth swallowed. _Your son is here. How? What? Did D'Reev brainwash him like he did me?_

"The way that you moved, the way you talked, the way you let me hug you instead of trying to pull away. What are you? One of D'Reev's tricks? Holomask? Android?" _My son? Twisted like D'Reev tried to twist me?_

"No. Dustil is here. This is his body. Harm me, and you harm your son." The boy turned around to face him, ignoring the weapon leveled at his head. His familiar black eyes stared at Carth and he started to get to his feet. One side of his mouth pulled into an expression Carth had never seen on Dustil's face. It could be a smile, or it could be a snarl. Carth kept the repeater trained on him, backing away, uncomfortably aware that they were standing on the edge of a very high drop.

"Dustil. Did D'Reev do something to you? Talk, talk fast."

"_Red _notices nothing. My own father remains oblivious. But you . . . a father's love for his son, I should have realized that I couldn't fool you, Captain. I haven't harmed your son. You have my word on that." He closed his eyes and spread out his hands in a gesture of peace. "When _my_ son is safe, I'll leave Dustil to his body. But not before."

"_Your _son . . ."_ That voice. _

_Frozen on the _Leviathan _and listening to that voice. Almost the same, but synthesized through a metal prosthesis attached to the Sith Lord's jaw._

"_Tell me, is it vengeance you seek at this reunion?"_

"_Reunion? What do you mean, reunion?" _

_The Dark Lord of the Sith laughed at them all. Horrible metallic laughter that echoed in the blast chamber. Carth watched the woman he'd thought was Polla Organa's face change, crumple then harden with a terrible resolve under the assault of it. Her lips moved and she whispered a name._

"Malak."

"_Can this be true? You still haven't realized, you still don't know who you really are?"_

_Too quickly, she shook her head. "No. This is a trick. This is a lie."_

Only it wasn't. Carth knew. Saul's dying words to him hadn't been a lie.

"_You must have seen flashes of your old life in your dreams, Red; memories bubbling up to the surface?"_

_Carth couldn't move. Bastila just stood there, white-faced and trembling. The bastard had him frozen with the Force and the woman he thought he'd loved was someone else entirely._

_Polla, who was not Polla at all, stared at Darth Malak with an expression that he couldn't understand. There were too many things in it. Frozen by Force stasis all Carth could do was replay Saul Karath's dying words in his mind again and again._

"Think upon this, when you look at those who you thought were your friends . . . "

"_Mal –" Polla whispered. "_No! _I'm Polla! Polla Organa!"_

_The man's dark laughter echoed through the room. _

Carth's head jerked back to the present. It was his son's mouth making these words; but his son had never sounded like this.

The black eyes that should have been Dustil's stared at him, unblinking. "Congratulations on your -- marriage. This . . . is awkward, but I am very happy for you. You — you make Red happy. That's . . . good." Dustil's lips whitened. "I wanted her to be happy."

_You want to save your son. You want us to be happy. Right. And I have an ocean on Tatooine to sell you for a very reasonable price._

"Get out of his body. _Now."_ Carth tried to imbue some authority in his words. Sound not terrified. Sound threatening. Enraged. "How dare you? Dustil? Can you hear me, Dustil?"

The laughter was too bitter to be Dustil's. Too sharp.

"My son won't survive the games Malachi and Revan play. Not on his own. My father thinks he can keep him safe by sending him away. Like he did me. But the Jedi Order is more secure than a fortified moon in the Corellian sector. The Order was outside of the game; the fortress would only be a challenge to the other Houses. Racharn will not be the only one to move. Between the two of them, Revan and my father have collected more enemies than allies. And sensing weakness, scavengers circle. My father . . . trusts Dustil now. I saved his heir's life. Left in his own body, would your son have done the same?"

Carth swallowed. "How dare you – _how _did you – you're dead!" Inside a part of his brain that was usually rational was gibbering. Just one word, just one name.

_Malak. Malak is . . . Malak._

Dustil's head nodded. "There is much good in your son – although, circumstances are not kind in bringing it out. I keep both of them safe, Captain Onasi. Both of them. And I understand this world. I was born to it. You and Revan were not. These steps . . . are one of the few places in the complex not monitored by one surveillance system or another. One of the few places we can speak freely." His son's lip curled in an unfamiliar sneer. "You need me. However . . . uncomfortable that may be for us both."

"We're _fine!_ We don't need your help." Carth waved the repeater. "Get out of my son's body _now!_"

The . . . the _thing_ gave a low chuckle and crossed its arms, eerily mimicking the dead Sith Lord's stance. "Do you really think you can stand against me, Carth Onasi? What are you going to do, shoot your own son?"

"I haven't forgotten the things you've done!"

"Nor have I." The black eyes hardened and the mouth pulled down, sketching unfamiliar lines of pain on Dustil's face. "Red doesn't know how lucky she is. Sometimes, I wonder . . . if you would have loved Revan as much as you love what she has become."

"She doesn't like that name," Carth snapped

"It's hers. Her name is Revan."

"I _know_ that." The false panorama, the small artificial sun above them, the impossibly green lawn below, these wide golden stairs, all gave the setting the appearance of a dream. Carth wondered suddenly if everything leading up to this had even been real. Stubbornly he continued on, even as his mind tried to make sense of this, think of a way to get to Dustil through this stranger's dark gaze. "I meant Red. Don't call her that, she hates it."

The ghost looking out at him with his son's face turned away, his shoulders tightened. "Does she?"

Carth's laughter sounded ugly in his own ears. A part of him inside snapped. This was – this was too much, too much to handle. Too much to accept. "And now you're back? You think you can waltz in here and reclaim your-- your –"

"My _wife?_" It was so wrong so wrong, that voice coming out of Dustil's mouth. "Don't be disgusting. I'm dead. I want my son to be safe. That is all."

"Why should I believe that?" Carth kept a firm grip on the repeater. _Cold metal grip, keep the barrel pointed. If he goes for you, shoot. Shoot your son. Kill Dustil, but Malak's already dead so what can you do to him?_

It was impossible. Untenable. There was no way out of this. No way at all. _Outgunned, outmaneuvered. Stall, stall for time._

"It's the truth. I could make you believe it." Dustil's eyes looked thoughtful. "But I'd prefer not to. You've suffered, Captain. You aren't entirely . . . yourself."

His son's body crossed its arms. The gesture wasn't Dustil's. His feet shifted slightly, he stood like a soldier, like a fighter. _Like a Sith Lord. _"You have to understand, Captain. _My son_ – my son would be dead if I had done nothing. I could shield him from the Force, dead. Against the games the great Coruscanti houses play, I could do nothing. If Revan hadn't played this particular card, none of this –"

"What was she supposed to do?" Carth heard his voice crack, as if it was coming out of a stranger's ears. "The Fleet, the Council and the Senate would be standing in line to detain her if she hadn't –"

"Proclaimed herself Mandalore and heir to the D'Reev senate seat?" The boy—the man – the _ghost_ inside his son's body rubbed his temples. "I was working with Malachor. With our son. Weakening my father's defenses. A quick strike, surgical, clean, precise . . ."

"Like Telos? Or Taris?"

The ghost ignored that. "Does she – "

"It's none of your business what she does!" His voice cracked. "How do I know you're not in league with D'Reev? How do I know that you're not _controlling_ D'Reev?"

"I wish I could." It was wrong, so wrong to hear that much bitterness coming out of his son's mouth. "Extreme Force-resistance and high Force-sensitivity run in families. Malachi is a good example of the former. I can't reach his mind, I can barely glimpse pieces of it . . . but what I see there . . . worries me_. Your_ mind, Carth Onasi, is much easier to see. Love for your son. Love for your wife." His mouth twisted. "Are we really that different?"

"You had no right – no right at all -- to do this to Dustil!"

"My son would be dead. And . . . you -- you do care for him." Morgana's black eyes scanned his face. "He reminds you of Revan, and you love her. Believe me. Your son is unharmed."

"Where is he then? If it's like you say, let me talk to him." Carth's mind frantically ran through the angles, trying to find something – anything. _Dustil, oh gods, Dustil . . ._

"He came to me. He asked me what to do about the Sith. He wanted to know how not to fall. He was frightened and confused." Mercilessly, the man continued. "He came to me because he'd felt that sweetness so close to madness, because he'd brought death. He came to me because he had no where else to go. And then he offered to help us."

"And then he _let_ you do this to him? Is he even there? Can he hear me? Dustil?" There was nothing of Dustil. Not in the expression, the stance, or the voice.

"No, then I betrayed him." For an odd moment Carth wondered which one of them he was trying to punish with his words The voice was flat. "Because I had to. Revan would have done the same."

"No. Not the Revan that _I_ know." Carth clenched his fists. "When I tell her about this --" he tried to make the words sound menacing. The ghost twitched his son's brows in an expression that made him realize how futile an effort it was. The ghost knew the truth.

_I can't tell her. I won't tell her. The reasons why. . . _The reasons why were more than he could articulate, even to himself. _My son. My wife. But what if she . . . doesn't see it that way?_ _What if she sees Dustil as a threat? What if she tries to kill Malak again . . . in my son's body? Or what if . . . _Carth closed his eyes, willing the rest of that thought to vanish before the Sith Lord plucked it from his mind.

The _-- thing_ -- pulled his son's mouth into tight line. "Red must not know. I think we can reach an understanding on that issue, Captain." The _– monster –_ in Dustil's body glanced at the chronometer on his wrist. "Senate debates begin soon." The _– the fiend from hell –_ gave him a ghost of a smile. "Allow me to escort you to the Observatory. We'll have a good view from there and . . . perhaps the opportunity to talk more. There's much – too much that I don't understand. What is she doing with the Mandalorians? And the Sith? Dustil told me about Arca Trinii." His lips twisted on the word 'Mandalorian,' and for a surreal moment Carth was reminded of the war, and a simpler time when all he'd had to worry about was stopping the Mandalorian threat.

_Only things are never that simple, are they, Onasi?_

_Old enemies . . . _He thought of Canderous and for an insane moment tried to imagine trusting Malak the same way. An insane moment. Just one.

_No._

"Get out. Get out of my son's body. Now."

"Would you trade your son's life for my son's? _No._ I explained to you why I cannot." The unfamiliar voice, the too familiar voice – he'd heard it in his nightmares ever since the _Leviathan _– slipped into a mockery of a Telosian accent again. "Your son is safe. Furious, but safe. I – I will try and help him too, Captain. Perhaps he was right, coming to me. I do understand the darkness he faces. More than you ever can. Power . . . is not an easy thing to put aside. Dustil is strong with the Force. And trained on Korriban – we – we did not train them well on Korriban. Not for peace."

_I'll find someone who can explain this to me. I'll find someone to help me rip this creature out of Dustil's head. Maybe the Jedi. Maybe one of the Jedi. . . or Oerin Lin, whom I trust about as much as a Rodian with spice fever. Whatever. It – it doesn't matter. I'll find someone. I'll save you, Dustil._

Dustil's face just looked at him, as if the thing could read every thought in his head.

_He probably can,_ Carth thought, bleakly.

The thing shook his head. "Not every thought. There's much in your mind that I'd rather not see." It closed Dustil's eyes and took a deep breath. "Trust," the fiend from hell said, "begins with an equal playing field. There are . . . techniques I can teach you. To shield your thoughts from Force-users. Force blindness can be an asset too, as my father well knows. I can teach you. I can teach your son. And I will." It folded Dustil's hands and bowed slightly to him, in an old gesture. One Carth hadn't seen since Dantooine. "You have my word. The word of the man I was. The word of Jedi Knight Malak D'Reev."

"Jedi lie!" Carth shot back.

"All the time," the thing replied. "But always for the greater good." Its mouth twisted. "Look. I don't give a bantha's ass about the greater good. Not anymore. I care about my son. Above all things. So perhaps I – misspoke. I give you my word. As a father, Captain. As one father to another."

"And Revan?"

The ghost laughed, short and bitter. "Is there any response I can give that . . . encompasses . . . For a time it was easy to reach her. She called for me, even when she didn't realize she was doing it. But once she learned of Malachor's existence, she shut me out. Almost completely. If she'd listened to me . . . I would have never bothered your son. I could have helped her steal Malachor away before the world knew he existed. But they will know now, and they will try and kill him." The ghost bowed Dustil's dark head and stared at the ground. "Because of us," the fiend from hell whispered. "Because of who we were and what we did."

The yellow light filtered down, glinting on the wide golden steps. The artificially blue sky of the dome was so bright that it made Carth's eyes ache. His hand holding the repeater trembled.

_Dustil. I'll find a way to get you out of this, son. I promise._

"And now, here we are," the ghost said.

"And now here we are," Carth echoed emptily. _Dustil, I'll find a way to get you out of this. I promise._

"I am sorry," the thing added, softly.

XXX

A/N

Thanks rose and ether for giving this a read. You all can blame rose for the cliffhanger ending...although I have to agree, leaving the inevitable next scene for the next chapter does set it up better...and gives me more room to give the scene the importance that it deserves.

EndlessBlue

So...close...(see above...:P)

Tim Radley

Nyrmon Hett's interesting-ness was originally scheduled to be revealed here...but it got pushed back. The Jedi will have quite a bit more to say, and of course, their own problems soon enough. Thanks for reading as always...and update! Your own big reunion scene is next too...and we are all dying to see it. And yeah, sometimes it's fun knowing what the characters don't...I loved writing the Leeshansantina scene for that very reason. Also, I think I like her.

snackfiend101

Nervous? Yeah, I guess you should be...But well, Korrie's happy! Yep, Malachi and Kreia would get along great. If I didn't hate the half-done character job of Kreia so much, I'd probably work that in. As it is, I think I am pretending she doesn't exist, or isn't that important in this fiction. Kavar and Atris are much more interesting...(You all did know that the bitchy white haired Jedi was Atris? Well...she is...)

Rose7

Thanks as always...oh, minor thing, meant to tell you in this chapter, I stole the word "atmo" from Firefly. It sounds like good military slang for atmosphere. And again, I think you're right on the ending, here.

Gillian

I don't care if you don't post a long review, am just happy you're reading it  While creativity is fun, and that's the first thing, I also really think a lot of its reward comes from it having an audience...if that makes sense. Am thrilled that people read this. Is inspiring. Also, if something doesn't make sense, please feel free to ask. Hell, it might be a mistake and I'd like to fix it.

Prisoner 24601

"It's good to see Carth starting to get back to his old self again, even if he is still a rather wounded man. I'm wondering how he's going to react when he discovers that his son has been take over by Malak of all people..."

...not well...that was a tough call on the decision, as to whether he'd notice or not. After all, he hasn't really ever spent much time with Dustil. I thought about having him not notice...not right away...but I also thought, he'd be the kind of man who would notice. And Malak, without the benefit of Dustil's cooperation (and who can blame the kid), does a lousy Dustil imitation. It's kind of a kick in the pants though, in terms of Carth-getting-back-to-normal. Poor Carth...

"And Revan is still being dense about Malak, isn't she?"

Perpetually. Like Zaalbar said once, she has her blind spots. And some things are hard to deal with. I doubt the flashback scene the Jedi showed her would really help her peace of mind regarding him either...

Force ghost Auntie Mita might make another cameo... (I reserve the right to take liberties with force ghosts...I think in canon they're only supposed to be powerful Jedi masters or something...but...that's boring.)

_Next up: What has been going on on Manaan? Mandalorians and their agendas...and of course, Korrie and Rev..._


	25. The Heart of a Son

**Chapter 25 / The Heart of a Son**

_Revan_

"A year of Padawan training and my butler thinks she's a Jedi councilmember. Anger is just another thing to be controlled, Korrie. It's another tool, nothing more and nothing less."

"Well maybe there are better tools then? Different ones?" His voice was a child's voice, clear and clipped with an upper-crust Coruscanti accent.

"Maybe," Revan heard herself whisper.

He turned at the sound of her voice and her breath caught.

His hair looked flattened down, as if its natural curl was restrained, the same way that the heavy robes and high collar restrained his body. His hands flattened against the blue forcefield that separated them and one of them moved in a small wave.

Heart in her throat she answered it. Waved back. Small gesture. _Hello._

One of his front teeth was growing in crooked. The field that separated them washed his features in a haze of blue, made him look like a ghost.

"I'll leave you now," Rulan Prolik said. "I'm sure you all have much to discuss."

Behind her she heard the hiss of the door close as the shapeshifter left. In front of her, behind her son, an old man sat at a small round table in a high-backed chair, hands folded. She heard the whir of HK's circuitry processing, although her droid was blessedly silent. But there were only two people in the universe. The rest of them were all suddenly and completely inconsequential.

"Malachor – Korrie," Revan corrected herself, walking forward. "You like to be called Korrie." _Carth said you like to be called Korrie. You're smart for your age. You're tall. You asked Carth questions about starships. You – oh, you. You're here. You're real. You're mine. _Mine.

"I _have_ to be called Korrie," her son answered. His wide mouth curled in a child's open happy smile. "But _you_ call me Mal." He nodded at her, oddly formal. "They told me you don't remember. But it's okay, 'cause you came back for me. Just like you promised." His grin stretched wider and the formality dropped. "I was right. You're not bad and you came back for me!"

Revan walked to the forcefield, bent down, fitted her palms against the places where his touched the blue wall between them. Knelt, so that their faces were as close as they could be. The field tingled unpleasantly, but it didn't matter. "I came back," she agreed, "for you."

_Oh you. You're here. You're real. You're mine._

"Touching," said a voice from somewhere else. Somewhere unimportant. "Drop the field."

The blue shimmered out and then he was in her arms. Solid weight of him. His hair smelled like soap and the robes were stiff and heavy silk. _Eridu._ His arms were around her neck and Revan fell back, almost laughing with happiness so deep she could die of it. Her son had a few freckles on his face and his eyes were a clear pale gray. Lined with red lashes. Her hand stroked his face, wonderingly, rumpled his hair so that it curled again. He wrinkled his nose at her and laughed and she laughed too.

Malachor's hand touched the collar at her neck. "Does this cut you off from the Force, Mother?"

"Yes," Revan said. _Mother. I'm his mother. _Even expected, the word hit her like a ton of permacrete.

"I don't have the Force yet," he said. "Maybe when I'm bigger."

"Maybe –" Revan echoed. She felt her face smile so wide it felt like it was going to split. "What do you like to do?" she asked her son. "We have to do whatever it is. All of it. Anything. Anything you want." _Anything for you._

"I dunno," her son said. "Play. Read stories. I like exploring, but I'm not allowed. Maybe when I'm older, Grandfather says. I like my friends at school . . ." A shadow crossed his face. "But now, I guess I won't get to play with Leeshy anymore 'cause she's a Racharn." His head ducked. "Sometimes I play pretend," he added.

"What do you pretend?" She smoothed the curls she'd just rumpled back from his brow, marveling at the way the hair met in a downward peak at the top of his head. Her own hair did the same, but it was straight, not curly. His hair was a darker red, and his mouth was wider than hers was under her same pointed chin. There were tears in her eyes and she brushed them away absently, hugging him close. He was real and solid and heavy in her arms. He bent his face close to hers so that their noses touched.

_Hothan kiss,_ some stray thought told her, and she rubbed her nose against his, and watched his face crinkle with laughter. A baby's game – maybe -- that he was too old for now. His head straightened again and he sat up in her lap, round face turning up to hers, slightly serious now.

"Look!" he said, rolling up his heavy sleeve to show her a fading red mark on his arm. "A burrower drone bit me today, but Dustil saved me. Do you like Dustil?" His voice was anxious, eager to please.

"Of course," Revan said gently. "He's Carth's son." _And I barely know him, but he saved your life. Thank the Force he saved your life . . . _"You've met Carth. He told me –" a lump in her throat "— he told me how wonderful you were." She swallowed, stroking his hair.

Reality began filtering back like a cold blast of vacuum. _People are trying to kill my son. I just made a deal with the devil to stop it. _Malachor was heavy on her lap. _Big for his age. Like his – _"Do you like Carth?" she asked him.

"It's important that I like him," Malachor told her gravely. The words had the air of a lesson learned by rote.

"Who told you that?" She was aware again of HK standing silent sentinel behind them and the man seated in front of her behind the small table against the wall of the room. Old and stooped. Hawklike nose, and those same gray eyes turned to chips of durasteel. Watching her every move. Over her son's shoulder she met his gaze and stared back, willing herself to show no reaction.

"Touching." Malachi D'Reev repeated. His bushy brows drew together under his hairless skull, which was speckled with age spots like the egg of an enormous bird. His hands were folded in a triangle and he tapped two fingers together, measuring.

"You're quite like her, you know. And yet . . . " The Senator shook his head slowly. "Differences. Subtle but there." _Tap, tap, tap,_ went his fingers. "Revan would never sit so carelessly on the floor."

"So is that the stick?" she asked him.

"Pardon?"

Malachor slid off of her lap and stood up, reached for her hand. Revan stood up too and took his small fingers in hers. Pulled him closer. He was tall, she thought, for eight. His head nestled under the crook of her arm. She didn't want to let go of him. Ever.

_Don't be scared of your Ma, Mal. _She thought at him, uselessly. _She has to intimidate your grandfather now. Your mother's good at that. But it's all for show._

"The stick," Revan repeated, making her voice grow cold. _Like Hoth._ "There's the thisla treat and the stick. The gift and the threat." She made her eyes narrow at him, made her face a mask. "Is it that the stick? Your claim that I am _not_ Revan?"

Malachi D'Reev snorted, which was not really the response she'd hoped for. "Thisla," he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

His expressions were . . . eerily familiar. _Like his -- _almost effortlessly she shut down the part of her that thought about that and concentrated on keeping her own serene.

"That's a fruit from the Outlier colonies, isn't it?" His lips pulled back. "It's not commonly known on Coruscant." He paused. "Or on Hoth. Or Dantooine or Arkania or anywhere else you've ever lived. On Coruscant we'd say . . . the open palm and the closed fist." The Senator uncurled his hands, made one open and one closed on the table. There was a spark of triumph in his eyes. "But yes, as you so quaintly put it: that is the stick."

_Thisla grows wild on the Outlier colonies. We had a tree in our backyard. _

_On Deralia._

_Don't show him anything. Don't give a centimeter._

"Coruscanti law," Revan replied, voice flat. "I am as Revan as Revan will ever be."

"I'm pleased you've been studying, and I admire your resourcefulness." His hands lay on the table, one open and one closed. "You may be aware that what was done to you has been done to Jedi before."

Revan thought about the scarred Twi'lek and tried not to shiver. "I'd heard about it," her voice drawled. It sounded like a stranger's voice.

The Senator's lip curled. "Have you?" His fingers tapped together absently and he leveled a stern glance at his grandson. Revan looked down. Malachor grinned back at his grandfather completely uncowed. A small spark of pride swelled in her chest, and she felt her own mouth break into a similar smile.

"In such cases, matters of identity were never a problem. The memories used were carefully chosen from the archives of Jedi holocrons centuries dead. "Additional experimentation with sets of artificial memories . . . sadly proved to be unstable, in every instance. That practice was abandoned over two decades ago, after a rather . . . spectacular failure." _Tap, tap, tap_ went his fingers.

"Your point?"

Malachor squeezed her hand, and looked up at her again, gray eyes wide and trusting. She resisted the urge to rumple his hair again, try and lift him in her arms. He was too big for that now. _Big-boned, like his -- _too grown-up to be carried.

"The politics of identity are curious. To find an example more relevant to your . . . rather unique set of circumstance, one must look to the Coruscanti houses. Most of the ruling families have at some point in their histories used clones, passing the lines of succession from one generation to the next. One thousand years ago, the Phin family took this evolution a step farther: not content to just clone themselves, they also implanted memories of the previous Senator in the mind of the next. Naturally, the lives of Senator's heirs remained uncertain. And so, there were always two clones implanted at one time. A certain amount of rivalry was unavoidable; but for centuries the practice proved remarkably effective. They guarded the technology zealously, but like any secret, it was a valuable currency. One that eventually fell into the hands of one of their rivals. Our house. D'Reev."

Malachi's hands folded into a steeple again. _Tap, tap, tap. _"A D'Reev heir was implanted with Phin's memories and laid claim to their House." He shrugged. "Predictable chaos ensued. And at the end, there was only one Phin heir, by age a child of ten, and the D'Reev substitute, by age a lad of twenty. Both with all the memories of House Phin."

"So?" Revan squeezed Malachor's hand again and looked down at him. He looked up at her and giggled softy, made a face where the old man couldn't see. She gave him a small smile back. _My son. Mine. _"The D'Reev pawn had no claim, genetically, to the other house."

"So said the Phin arbiters. But identity is nebulous. Intangible. D'Reev called in expert witnesses: mystics, priests, Jedi . . ." The old man made a face. "The final ruling hinged on the matter of the soul, and the fact that it was, in a sense, _split _between two bodies. If there had only been one remaining then it would have had unquestioned ownership. As it was, the courts and the other Senate Houses ruled that one had to be the copy of the other. And as a copy, it had no rights in and of itself." The Senator blinked his hooded eyes. "There's so much changed in you, Revan, I hardly know if I need to explain this more."

Her mouth was dry. Revan swallowed, remembering Mission's words.

"_Are you telling me she's real? Polla Organa's real? She's alive? This is big, sis. Really big. Major."_

"_I thought I did tell you. . ." _

"_That she was a real personality, sure. Not that she was a _living_ real personality. Legally, that makes a huge difference."_

"You made a deal with the Genoharadan," she said coldly. _Be like Hoth. Go on the offensive. If you're losing one battle, pick another fight. _"And it's a bluff." _You value Malachor's life. You would not risk him. Not really. _

_And that's why . . . you're bringing up this other stick._

"A bluff?" There was nothing in his expression to give her a clue one way or the other. The Senator shrugged. "I admit, my plans have changed. Originally I just wanted to destroy you. And I could. Very easily. At any time. Still." His expression was as cold as hers. "Technically, by Coruscanti law, you're a copy of a Deralian smuggler. And nothing more. You are quite fortunate that everyone who knows about this has a vested interest in keeping it quiet. Myself included."

Malachor's head was level with her ribs. His arms slid around her waist. Revan resisted the urge to try and pick him up again. He was too big for that.

"But now you need me," Revan said. Her throat was dry. She resisted the urge to swallow.

"Thanks to your antics, what we both value more than all things is at risk. You are not defenseless, Revan, and Malachor is. As my Second, our enemies – _your_ enemies will focus on you, not _Korrie." _The emphasis he put on her son's name made her realize why he was called that.

_Malachor. I named my son after the Mandalorian system. I named my son after his father. What was it that Aemelie had said? _

_"You're really going to have to do something about that name. How would you like it if I named this one Serroco? Or Althir? Or Dxun?"_

_That dream of Malak, on the refugee ship from Eos. _

"_We argued about his name for a week. I wanted to change it – you refused . . . "_

"_Our _enemies. Old man, what makes you think we have the same enemies?_"_

Malachi D'Reev laughed. "With your claim on my house, you inherit mine. And, of course you've made your own. Do you even know why Racharn strikes at you?"

Revan took a wild guess. "Because of what I did to them during the Sith and or Mandalorian Wars?" _What I did to their family, planet, country home, favorite pet. . . _Her thoughts skittered, useless.

The Senator shook his head. "Remarkable, how like and unlike the real Revan you are. You don't know, do you?"

She gritted her teeth. "Enlighten me."

"Economically you ruined them. They were heavily invested in Echanis space. You and my son destabilized the region, burned a few select targets – carbonite mines and peridillium manufacturing centers on the industrial planets, and claimed the entire useless stretch of space dust for your glorious Sith Empire."

Malachor scowled at his grandfather. "Stop it," he said. "Mother's not bad anymore. Don't fight with her."

The old man snorted. "I lent them funds to diversify. Monies that they are still paying back. A debt between Houses is not grounds for dispute by the laws of the Game – or no one would bother paying them – but deliberate economic sabotage of another House's interests certainly qualifies. With your claim, you've made it quite convenient for them to target us both."

"Give them more money, then," Revan made herself drawl. "To back off." She squeezed Malachor's hand tightly. _We're going to run away, Mal, _she thought at him. _This is all just the kath and hessi show._

"Is that a technique you learned from the Deralian's memories? Pay everyone off?" The Senator's laughter was sharp. "The Game doesn't work like that."

Her eyes narrowed. "Everyone has a price. You're rich. Find it."

His lips gave a faint smile. Revan tried to not shiver. His expression was almost – approving.

"I used to wish sometimes that you were my natural-born daughter. My son was soft, but you . . ."

"_Give them a cause to believe in," Malak said. His hand tightened on her arm. "Religion, or an ideology. A vision of a united Republic. A utopia worth striving for where all sentients live in peace . . ."_

"Soft," she echoed.

_His eyes were sunk deep in his skull, and there was something black and sticky staining the tight cortosis weave of his red and black armor. Revan felt a wave of disgust. Lightsabers were clean. But Malak had deliberately wallowed in the deaths he'd made._

_Soft . . ._

_Don't think. If you're losing a fight, pick a better one._

"You tried to kill me. You brainwashed Carth Onasi. You've told the entire galaxy that I'm Darth Revan reborn."

"And in retaliation you've united the Mandalorian clans, garnered diplomatic immunity for yourself – at least temporarily – divided the Jedi Council to the point of immobility, and gotten Racharn to move openly against D'Reev." The old man's fingers went _tap, tap, tap. _"Not to mention the rumors from Ziost . . ."

_What rumors . . . ? _She bared her teeth. "You know the Sith, always spreading rumors . . ."

"I'm impressed. For a shell of the woman you once were, you've done quite well. I will not interfere with your games, Revan. They can serve us both, paving the way for the future. For Malachor's future."

His smile was approving, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"You're bluffing again," she said, voice flat. "The Genoharadan gambit is a bluff. You'd never hurt Korrie. You want _your _enemies to destroy me, and then you'll claim . . . something, wriggle out of it . . . somehow. You're like a Hutt in a mudpit, trying to clamber out. You're not fit to raise my son."

At her side Korrie looked up at her. His eyes were very wide. There was a confused frown on his face. "Don't fight," he repeated.

The Senator coughed. "You left him with me to raise." His cultivated voice was low and very, very dangerous. "You think it's a bluff?" He touched something at his wrist and there was a metallic click. The collar around her neck fell off and the Force came rushing back like a song. A sad slow dirge. Malachor's hand tightened in hers and she _felt _him, the soft weight of him, emotions, love so strong that you could die from it.

_You, oh you . . ._

_Mother, I'm glad you're here. He promised you'd come back for me._

She looked down at Malachor – _Korrie, think of him as Korrie, damnit the old man's right, it's safer – for him . . . _and saw the faint white glow around him. Innocence. And – and the Force.

"You have it," she whispered. Her son looked up at her, uncomprehending.

"You feel like you again," he said, that wide mouth breaking back into a smile. One of his teeth was crooked, mostly grown in now.

_We'll have to fix that. How do you fix that? _

"Fix what?" he said out loud giggling.

"Your tooth," Revan answered. "I-I think mine did the same thing, when I was your age, I –"

_When I was younger than you I was on Telos and – no. _She felt his mind reach for hers, like his hand holding her hand and she closed her thoughts down quickly, barricading them. _Like ice. Like a wall of ice._

"Touching, the bonds between mothers and children," the old man mused. "Malak and his mother were much the same, at that age."

"What happened to her?" Revan murmured absently, staring down at her son.

_You have the Force, my son_. _It feels like a star inside you. Like the heart of a sun._

Korrie's head shook, and his mouth tightened stubbornly. _No I don't. I'm not allowed. _His thoughts were like bright fish in a clear pond, darting too quickly for her to understand them. Fear there, maybe. She tried to smile reassuringly.

The Senator snorted. "A shell," he repeated. "Of the woman you were. Without even the memories you need to understand anything at all."

"Father's mother was Second," Korrie answered out loud. "Most Houses have lots of heirs, 'cause they clone them. But we D'Reevs don't because that makes you weak. Stagmite – stag –"

"Stagnant," the Senator said from outside of the universe that only had two people in it.

"Seconds die a lot," her son said. "Father would have died too, prob'ly – but Grandfather sent him to be a Jedi until he got bigger."

"Oh," Revan said. She closed her eyes.

_The apprentice dormitory was silent and dark, thick with the softness of childish sleep. And someone was crying. He'd been crying for hours. She couldn't stand it anymore. The stone floor was cold and she tiptoed to the last cot in the row of cots, knelt down beside it and shook his shoulder._

"_Why are you crying?" she whispered. _

_The tall boy rolled over on the narrow cot and looked at her. His eyes were dry and gray. "I'm not," he said stubbornly._

"_Inside your head you are," she hissed. "Stop it, you're keeping me awake."_

"_Go to hell," he shot back. _

_Vrook always said smiling at people helped. Revan tried a smile. "Tell me why you're crying," she suggested. Before she'd come here, Vrook was always trying to get her to talk. But Uncle Vrook said sometimes talking was good. It could make you feel better._

"_My mother's dead," the tall boy said._

_Revan shrugged. "So's mine," she offered. She tried the smiling thing again._

_Warily, the boy smiled back._

Malachor giggled. "Father looks funny with hair," he told her. His voice was anxious. "Do you miss him?"

_Mal, Mallie, Malak._

_I don't – I don't know him – I -- I killed -- _Her eyes were wet. Angrily she blinked them. _Bad time. Bad time for this. _

"Do you think it's a bluff?" the Senator repeated. She glanced at him. He was blurry, everything was. _Damnit. _She wiped her eyes with the stupid priceless eridu sash, watching him frown at the carelessness of the action.

The old man's Force-blindness was like a black spot on the sun. A dead place. She could sense nothing from him.

"A bluff," she repeated, trying to collect her scattered thoughts. Her voice was surprisingly flat and cold. _Like Hoth. _"Yes. I think it's a bluff."

"Then strike me down and see how long your son survives." _Tap, tap, tap, _went his fingers.

Instinctively her hand curled into a fist and she raised it, pulling on the Force. She felt his pulse rate increase slightly, his old heart beat a little faster, but his face gave nothing away.

_Tap, tap, tap, _went his fingers.

"I could kill you with a thought," Revan said softly. She was aware of her son's expression even without watching it. His mouth in a round o, eyes wide, a feeling that was not quite fear but close . . .

_Damnit._

"The odds in the Observatory are twenty to one that you'll kill me within the week," Malachi D'Reev said, pleasantly. "But they don't know about our arrangement."

"It's a bluff," she repeated. Her hand tightened slightly and she was pleased to see his eyes widen, almost imperceptible, feel his heart rate increase.

_Tap, tap, tap._

"Mother?" Korrie was pulling at her robe. Distracted for a moment, she looked down at him again.

_It's a bluff. But what . . . what if it's not?_

Her son's eyes were wide and gray.

Her hand fell, palm open, to her side.

"You _have_ changed," the old man said. His hands stopped their tapping and he raised one to his mouth and coughed. "As I suspected."

_XXX_

_Yuthura Ban_

As Vrook had told them, the trial was only a formality. They stood before the Selkath court and were judged innocent of any crime. It should have been a victory; but of course it was not. Afterwards, a small escort took them back to what had been their prison to collect their few possessions. It had not, however, escaped Yuthura's notice that no one had offered them back their lightsabers, or Gharen's blasters.

"You're free to go." Vrook Lamar repeated the words again. There was a weight in his voice that Yuthura couldn't quite read. Almost -- a warning. _Trap here, somehow._ But laid by whom to catch what, she had no idea. Behind him, the containment fields were gone. Their Selkath guards fiddled with something at their console, and the faint hum of the neural disrupters shut down as well.

"Go where?" Armon Wu was already shoving the few things he'd collected into a bag. He looked at the human Jedi with something like a challenge in his face. "The Selkath want us off this planet, the Sith want us dead for traitors, where are we supposed to go?"

"We could have helped you heal the kolto," Sheris muttered. Her metal hand scratched the unscarred side of her face and her lip twisted. Vrook looked away from her quickly. Seeing his niece's face, even a broken copy of it, obviously still caused him some discomfort.

"The -- Senate has arranged for you to have a ship. One ship. To take you where ever you want. You are Republic citizens, and in recognition of that, they're offering you free passage to the Republic world or worlds of your choice." Roland Wann was smooth. His face was hard and he looked annoyed, but Yuthura didn't buy it. The offer was too vague and too easy.

_Trap here. The ship was the trap. Easy to trap people on a ship. How easy would it be to miss the boat? _

"A ship. Any world we want. Sounds like paradise," Beya rolled her eyes.

"I want to go to Coruscant," Sheris whispered. "To the Temple." She looked up at the Deralian. Her metal hand reached for her friend's. "Would you come with me, Beya?"

The Deralian gave a short, sharp laugh. "You want to go to Coruscant with Revan's face? Chuba, sometimes I think you're still touched in the head."

Sometimes the best way to deal with a minefield is to run right over it. "It's wonderful the Republic is offering to buy us a ship," Yuthura said, keeping her voice serene. "But Manaan is, last I checked, at least nominally Republic?" She folded her arms. "I'd like to stay here, and heal the kolto."

"Bakata," Vikor said softly. "We could go to Ryloth . . .come with me, please."

Strange to feel him through the Force after weeks of blindness. His emotions were as sincere as his voice, but the sincerity didn't change the facts.

_It's a trap, you fool,_ she thought at him, not sure if he'd catch her words or not.

His lekku twitched back, and a faint smile crossed his pointed face. His lekku twisted his response, giving a nuance of expression that no voice could match to his words. _What trap can hold _us, _bakata? Come with me. Please come._

"I want to go home," Beya admitted softly, staring at the ground. "Sheris – come with me back to Deralia."

The girl from Hoth made a face. "No."

"Wann," Vrook said, voice sharp. "I have orders from the Council. Orders in confidence. Leave us. Now."

Roland Wann snorted and shrugged. "As you wish." With one disdainful backwards glance he left the room that had been their prison. The containment fields were down now and beyond them, an open door.

_Freedom . . . _

Yuthura smiled faintly and raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

"I wouldn't take the ship," Vrook said flatly. "If any of you want to stay on Manaan I'll do my best . . . to keep you safe."

"Oh, that's comforting," muttered Lukash Vair. A scowl crossed his delicate Falleen features. "I'll take my chances in the stars, thanks."

"As will we," said Vikor, glancing at Yuthura. He reached for her arm, protective.

_Possessive. _

"No." She pulled away from him. "I'm staying here."

Around them, the rest of the Selkath ten murmured and whispered, packing their few possessions as they would.

"I'm staying," said Davad Arkan, voice flat.

"We'll be _safe_ on Deralia," Beya insisted again to Sheris. She reached out a hand and touched the mask that covered half of her friend's delicate features. "We'll find a surgeon and he can fix –"

One side of the Hothan's face pulled in a sneer. "I said, no. Can I go to Coruscant, Master Vrook?" she asked the old man.

Vrook's eyes dropped to the floor. "That would be inadvisable," he said. "But there are surgeons here, and we could have the damage . . . and the alterations . . . fixed . . ."

The green eye not covered by the mask widened. "Alterations?" Sheris shook her head. "Fix the scars," she agreed. "But nothing else. She lifted her chin, in an eerie parody of Revan's stance. "This is what I look like. It's how she made me."

Vrook Lamar reached out a hand and brushed the red hair back from her forehead. "I remember your real face, Padawan Sheris Loran," he said, voice gentle. "Don't you want –"

"Sheris _Darkstar_," the Hothan insisted, flicker of anger in her tone. "It's what she made me."

"Your parents are alive." Vrook said. "On Hoth. They . . . wrote to me about you. Said to tell you if you wanted to come home . . ."

_Of course,_ Yuthura thought. _He's from Hoth, too. _For a moment she wondered about the family that had spawned not only Revan Starfire but Master Vrook Lamar.

"Hoth's no home for your niece," Sheris spat back. "I saw the vids, they deny she was even born there."

"You and Revan are very different cases," Vrook Lamar answered steadily.

"We're the same." Sheris shook her head. "I thought you of all people would understand. We're the _same. _She made us the same."

"She's getting worse," muttered Gharen under his breath. "Pity you Jedi can't heal a cracked mind . . ."

"I'm taking her to Deralia." Beya reached for her friend's hand, the good one, not covered by a prosthesis.

"_I said, no!" _Sheris snapped back. Her good hand twisted slightly, and they all felt it. Pull of dark energy like the ebb of a tide.

Beya dropped the hand and backed away. "Frack, Sheris," she sighed. "Don't --"

"Don't take the ship," Vrook Lamar repeated. "If you want to get offworld do it secretly. Separately. I will help."

"Don't take offense, Master Vrook," said the former Sith Admiral Armon Wu. "But I think I'd rather take my chances with the Fleet's offer than trust anymore Jedi _lies."_

"I'm going to Deralia," Beya repeated. "Sheris, I want you to come, but if you don't, I'm still going. It's _home –_ I –I miss home."

"I want the redemption," Sheris Darkstar said, her green eye never leaving Vrook's face. "I want the redemption. The one she got. We're the _same. _Why can't I have what she got?"

Vrook Lamar inhaled sharply. "You have no idea," he said, voice oddly gentle. "What it is that you're asking for."

"Did they offer it to you once, Master Vrook?" Yuthura recognized the voice that came out of her mouth. Her old teacher's voice, mocking and serene. She folded her arms, attempting to strike her pose of old authority. "Did you take it?"

His dark eyes flickered to hers, face impassive. "They offered. I did not."

She made her lips curve upwards. "And did you follow Exar to Yavin? Were you swayed by Ulic's promises of a new golden age? Were you possessed by some ancient Sith holocron like the children's holovids say, about all of the fallen Jedi?"

Behind her, someone snickered.

Vrook shook his head. "I never fell," he said steadily.

"Neither did Tott Doneeta, and look at what they did to him!" Vikor's lekku flicked and his skin flushed a deeper green.

"He asked for it," Vrook said quietly. "If any of you choose to take that path, I will support your request, with the Council . . . but now . . . things are – unsettled. Until Revan is –"

"— is what, Master Vrook?" Beya asked, lifting an eyebrow. "Mindwiped again?"

Vrook swallowed. His loss of composure was astonishing, like fragile cracks in a sheet of transparisteel right before it all crumples to the ground.

"Restored. Until Revan is restored, it would be useless to ask for anyone else. I'm aware that you know the truth about what was done to her. You know more than anyone, save some Fleet personnel and the Jedi Council. It's not safe knowledge to have. Do you understand?"

"Oh, absolutely," Yuthura lied. Her mind puzzled over the word 'restored' but she gave nothing away.

XXX

_Canderous Ordo_

_"Why do you follow her?" Gwen had asked him, voice sleepy with content, that first night of their reunion after he'd come home to them. The three of them were sprawled in front of the brazier, sipping the sweet dark tea that he'd made. Its rich bitter taste was a reminder of a home Canderous had thought he'd never see again._

"She's Revan," he'd said. In the man's world, that would explain everything. But, as he'd learned long ago, women weren't that simple.

"She's Lin," he added. "We are sworn to assist them."

"Only as long as their interests serve Ordo and all Mandalorians," Aemelie purred. His hand tangled in her hair and she giggled, softly. The children were asleep in the adjoining room. "Can she give us what we need?"

"I don't know," Canderous said, honestly. Better to be honest than to make promises that one couldn't keep. He hesitated. "It is doubtful. I can hardly see the Republic trusting her with what's left of its Fleet after what happened the last time."

"We don't need warships." Gwen wrapped her arms lazily around his chest and brushed her lips against his ear, nibbling lightly. Canderous groaned. Gods. It had been far too long.

"Again, if it pleases you," he said, exhaling in a sharp hiss. "We can go again."

"Mmmm . . . " Aemelie's hand brushed the surface of his skin and he nearly jumped out of it.

"Ask her for freighters," Gwen told him. "Harmless, dilapidated, salvage. Freighters. With the resources of D'Reev and that computer of hers, a small fleet of unarmed ships shouldn't be hard to come by." She yawned, stretching impressively. Canderous reached for her, and she fell into his arms, laughing.

"Freighters," he agreed, thinking. "We can retrofit?"

"It will give the young ones something to do," Gwen agreed.

"Are there . . . resources?" he asked, searching for a harmless euphemism that wouldn't intrude on women's business.

"Small caches," Aemelie replied with astonishing directness. "Left over from the war. Scattered across several worlds. Enough."

Later, it had been easy, sitting by the fire with his son on his knee to think of this all as a glorious gamble for the future. But this wasn't his kind of fight, and honestly, he felt like a jru'kka in mud trying to swim.

Now, of course, there was an issue with security and the double Krath blades that the Jedi Masters and the Fleet brass had not been foolhardy enough to attempt to take from Headwoman Catrinex Rialis, eldest Mother of the clans on Coruscant. Rank and file CoruSec guardsmen didn't show as much sense and, unsurprisingly, the Republic had a prohibition about weaponry on the Senate floor. Canderous wondered if Carth had been caught with the old Degalian repeater as well. Practically a toy; but in a pinch it couldn't hurt. He'd watched Revan and Carth walk off with her droid like dewbacks to slaughter and had to stifle the growing feeling of unease about this entire production.

The guard not engaged in a tug of war with a woman who'd seen sixty Rialis cycles wax and wane like moons, ran the scanner over his robes again, frowning. The machine clicked and gave a small beep.

"He's clean," the lad said, dubious. "They both are."

"Of course we are," Oerin Lin snapped. "And the Headwoman's swords are entirely ceremonial. Sacred," he added. His hands curved protectively around the helm he'd strapped to his thigh. Canderous wondered what armaments the pup had smuggled inside.

He hid his snicker under a gruff cough. The guards stepped back nervously.

_That's your job, Ordo. Look intimidating . . . but not too intimidating._

"Shouldn't the Ordo one be shackled or something?" whispered a blonde wisp of a girl who looked barely old enough to fight, dressed in lieutenant's bars.

"You want to put the restraints back on him, Cally?" her companion, a nondescript human male shot back. The whelp was barely old enough to shave.

"Ordo and I have come to an agreement," Oerin said. "Your glorious leader, the High Admiral Rensha saw fit to remove his chains. Who are _you_ to question it?"

The blonde girl giggled. "Glorious leader? Old scaley?"

Canderous let his mouth stretch into a harmless grin and stuck his thumbs in the thick belt of his robe, surreptitiously checking the small blade he had lodged there. It wasn't much, but it made him feel better.

The other guard, the Trandoshan wrestling with the Headwoman of Rialis finally gave up, beating a strategic retreat under hail of Mandalorian curses. The old woman's mind might be half-soup, but there was nothing wrong with her tongue. Or her imagination. Grandmother Ordo had been much the same, before her end.

"Any more news?" Canderous mumbled in Mandalorian, shifting closer to Oerin in a warrior's swagger. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the guards closely. None of them gave any sign of understanding; but he assumed there'd be surveillance and a translator stationed somewhere picking up their every word. Still he trusted the pup to be discreet.

Unless of course these Republic were complete idiots . . . which given recent history was not a point to be discounted.

"Her collar's off," murmured Oerin Lin, his eyes – at the moment a bright and guileless blue – shifted thoughtfully around the room. "They're fencing, now I think. She's with the boy. The others . . . are positioned appropriately."

Too much to hope that the pup meant fencing with swords. Canderous could imagine the dance of words only too easily. Revan was good at that, whether she knew it or not was another matter. Whether she knew enough . . . well, the game was in motion now, and they had their own part to play.

"We're supposed to keep you here until they call for you," the girl Lieutenant said, her young voice full of self-importance. She spoke slowly, as if she suspected they were deaf.

Oerin Lin beamed at her and addressed her back in the same accentless Standard. "Are you from Dantooine . . . Lieutenant. . .?"

"Lee," she smiled back. "Cally Lee. And yes, yes I am." Almost reflexively, her lashes fluttered.

"Barbarian whore," the Headwoman of Rialis muttered in her local dialect, spitting on the ground. "Mandalorian men do not take outlander wives. Only bad luck comes of it."

Oerin's hand twitched, and his ears flushed a slight pink. "There's Revan, Mother Rialis," he said softly in the same patois. "She was an outlander. And of course, there was my mother as well . . ."

"That rizka-bait trollop is no Revan. And your mother's plans . . . failed," the Headwoman shot back. "In your grandfather's time, _boy_, our men sacked this city-planet properly." She gave a snort of disgust. "Bad luck, all of this. If you'd just let me bargain properly with the D'Reev we'd have our ships by now and you could blood yourselves on this fat prize of a world until the barbarians screamed for mercy."

Canderous gritted his teeth. The word Revan was still Revan, D'Reev was still D'Reev, and he didn't put it past these Republics to have someone on hand who could understand Rialis. It was basically an archaic form of Mandalorian, after all.

"My daughter Millifar," he broke in, "would look less kindly on your suit if she saw you flirting with another woman, Lin."

The entirely inappropriate words had the desired effect. Lin flushed red and ducked his head, looking less like a young prince and more like a denessan beet.

It was worth enduring the lecture on his shamelessness in mixed company from the Headwoman, just to change the subject. Somewhere, Canderous suspected, some Mandalorian translator and xenososh would be having a field day with the transcript.

XXX

_Malak_

The little things hadn't changed. The same circular bar and golden servomechs. The same rows of small tables lined in a half-moon row in front of the same expanse of transparisteel ferracrystal, opening the view to the Senate floor below. Different faces here, than the last time he'd been. And when was that?

_Before. It was before. Before it all went to hell. Years._

Some of the faces were the same too, although different clones inhabited them. They all looked so young, as young as this body. The same calculating glances, cultivated laughter, hushed whispers as he and the Captain walked past. Without even trying he could hear the gist of their thoughts.

_D'Reev's lackies . . . what are _they _doing here?_

Captain Onasi hadn't killed him yet. Hadn't even tried. Malak tried to look on that as a good sign. The man's hate and fury beat on him like a wave, dulled only a little by the sporadic ysalamiri coverage. They hadn't gotten any better at shielding the complex from the Force. That was really no surprise.

And inside his mind, a dull hopeless wail. Dustil Onasi's anger came in waves and the tide was out now. Malak forced his breath to be even. This was easier, when the boy was hopeless than when he was angry. Malak tried to think soothing thoughts -- which of course did no good since the boy refused to hear them -- but it salved his own conscience.

And thinking about Dustil was a blessed distraction to the faint emotions filtering through ysalmiri that he couldn't help but feel from his son.

_Love. Love for Revan. And she –_

_Almost instinctively he reached for her, supporting himself on that wall of ice as the planet's surface blazed beneath them. Mandalorian basilisks flew into formation, dropping like bright candies from a child's birthday surprise. The basilisks fell from the warbird that the Republic capital ships had encircled like clumsy whales around a faster, sleek shark. The Mandalorian's ambush was just ahead now. Their cloaked destroyer basked under a heavy cloud cover at the highest point of the moon's atmosphere. Invisible to the Republic's sensors. But Malak could _see_ the bright sparks of life on it, clear as tiny flames. _

_Malak tapped in the coordinates for Admiral Karath, and the Telosian gave the orders. Bursts from their main cannon on the viewscreen and the cloaking net flickered; an alarm going off on their bridge as their ship's instruments finally registered what before only his mind had been able to see. _

_And on the Mandalorian destroyer those little flames went out, one-by-one. Two thousand of them, give or take. Her thoughts were even and contained and a cold. An ice wall between him and emotion. No feelings as they died except –_

_Except love, of course. That morning she'd asked him if he was fine. Skin rosy from her sonic, hair a tangled cloud of wet fire down her back. Eyes green as jewels, and as blank and hard. Perfunctory kiss, but her mind was elsewhere. Somewhere in a vision of tactics as they played Mandalorian chess with flesh and blood._

_No feelings, except hate. Hate for the Mandalore that had taken his wife and refashioned her into this machine. She was deep in the trance now, beyond that place where he could reach her. Projecting a wall of ice between the Jedi Knights and the death they brought._

"Were you at Dxun?" he asked the Captain.

Carth Onasi shot him another look of outrage. The man's jaw clenched. "We're not," he hissed, "going to have a chat about the wars, Mal –_"_

"_Don't,"_ Malak muttered, trying to resist the urge to reinforce the objection with the Force. The Captain's mind was damaged, like thin cloth worn so thin that the light shone through. Any Force-compulsion over the injuries his father had inflicted would tear it to shreds. "Don't use that name," he murmured lightly, trying to slur the vowels just right.

The other man's jaw worked, but he was silent. The Captain's thoughts ran endlessly in a hopeless circle. _I have to save Dustil. I have to find someone to help – but there's no one. I can't tell her, I can't tell Polla –no Revan – how can I tell her. What if she hurts my son, what if she -- . _Malak gritted his teeth and shut them out.

"May I help you, Citizens?" The servomech's toneless query interrupted them both. The droid gestured a golden arm at a small table by the window on the main viewing platform. Beyond that curved the senate boxes, each one a hovering gravlift, hanging like leaves above the floor far below. Above that the dome, and the white clouds of the Coruscant sky.

The floor was empty at the moment, but in the Observatory there was a sense of hushed expectation, as the Coruscanti elite and their offspring waited for the big show.

_D'Reev versus D'Reev._

And somewhere her mind only saw Malachor. Only saw their son.

Her happiness felt like bile on the back of his throat.

This was not going to be easy.

Malak sat down at the table, watching the Captain sit across from him, hand still clenched tight around the primitive weapon he had in his pocket. "Althiri firewater," Malak ordered the servomech. "Room temp." The Captain's eyes glittered dangerously, and Malak suddenly remembered their only real encounter. _That was near the end, right before. _His lips twisted, unfamiliar, clumsy, as he tried to make Dustil's face obey instructions to look harmless and unthreatening. "Two glasses. Bring the bottle."

"You're not putting that poison inside my son's body!" Carth muttered under his breath as the servomech retreated.

Malak bit off his bitter response and stared at the window. There, almost directly across from them, between the yellow and blue of House Qel-Ria and the silver and white of Phin. The D'Reev box. He could make out the two red heads, sitting close to each other, and farther away, the old man. Malachor's thoughts were a simple clear burst of light. _Happiness._

The holoscreen to the right of the senators' boxes showed the Senate floor. A man wearing the Mandalore's armor, and two figures behind in the traditional robes stepped off their gravlift onto the penitent's gate. There was General Ordo _– my wife's other husband, what game are you playing at, Red -- _and an old Headwoman they'd found somewhere. Rialis, probably, from the pattern of her hair. Malak tried to keep his breath even.

"_On Mandalore," the old man had said to his son, "the men of the clans are to be feared for their prowess in battle, their skill with swords, and their absolute conviction that war is everything. But it's the women of the clan who have the real power. " _

_The old man's smile had been smug when he'd said that. When had he – before, right before. Right before Red and I left with Vrook on our quest to become perfect, gentle knights._

_The old man's smile had been smug. Years before I knew the entire truth about why . . . and if I had never known – would things have been different for us?_

The servomech glided back, smooth and golden. Malak waved it away. His hand shook as he unstoppered the bottle, poured two glasses of the clear harsh rotgot and swallowed one of them as fast as he could. His throat tightened, and Malak felt the boy's gut clench in protest as the liquid seared his throat.

The Captain glared at him. Malak looked away.

XXX

_Polla Organa_

Polla wove her way through the dancers in the main room of the barn off to the feed room, where Seiran was sitting with her father and several of the other men, gathered around the flickering light of an ancient portable holovid player that someone had set up in the corner. Jasp Organa had his grandson on his lap, and a mug of ferra grass wine in one hand. Junior was sleeping peacefully at least. _Sports,_ she thought. _Even at a wake, they can't afford to miss Adaston's championship run against Rangon Hill . . . _

"Having fun?" she asked Sei acidly.

His tanned face flushed. "Poll -- hon. Uh -- "

Suddenly Polla realized that all of them, all of the men gathered on crates and bales of uncured grass were staring at her. She frowned.

_"Noble sentients of the galaxy, we come before you humbled, seeking your aid. As a conquered people, we are eager to embrace the ways of your Republic, to turn our basilisks into harvesters; to be accepted as a protectorate of your great Empire . . ." _

Polla glanced at the screen. "Senate stuff from Coruscant? The game is on this afternoon and you're watching galactic politics?" She wasn't really pissed that Sei had snuck away from the traditional reels and line-dances. Men did that when the game was on, it was pretty much expected.

"Polla, it's the Mandalorian issue. The uh, you know -- it's -- "

_Mandalorian. Oh. Mandalorian meant Her. _

"Well, where is she, then?" Her voice fell, flat and crisp in the suddenly silenced room. Polla stared at the particle screen. The holographic image showed a man with blonde hair wearing silvery armor -- he'd been the one in the vids before. And there was Canderous Ordo from the _Ebon Hawk_ looming behind him. _Her _other_ husband. He's way too old._ Polla made a face at the viewscreen.

"It's just started," Jasp Organa said, settling back with his grandson on one knee and his mug on the other. "Sit down, dear. You should probably see this."

On-screen an old woman seemed to objecting to something the blonde man had said. Her voice was thin. Over the din of the reel in the next room, Polla had to strain to hear it.

_" -- cannot lead us. Mandalorians are led by a blooded warrior. Oerin Lin is blooded in only two of the three ways of our clans."_ The speakers crackled.

"_We must appoint a regent," _Canderous Ordo rumbled. He looked sort of awkward, Polla thought, the kind of man more at home in a firefight than on parade_. "Until the pup gets blooded." _He cupped his hand over his eyes looking up, the Senator's boxes soared around them like a towering black wall.

"_I'll accept that,"_ Oerin Lin said. He gave the camera a practiced smile. _"As long as the regent is Clan Lin."_

The old woman frowned and looked puzzled. _"Now?"_ she said in badly accented Basic.

Canderous Ordo sighed_. "It's your decision, Mother Rialis,"_ he said formally. His hands twitched at his side.

The Galactic Chancellor's hovercraft came into the camera view, and the leader of the Republic began to give a long speech. The speakers crackled and his clicking Basic wasn't that easy to understand. Polla started to tune it out. Politics had never interested her.

_Where's Revan? Shouldn't she be out here in chains or something?_

"So —" Polla broke in, "he's a prisoner too, right? Canderous? He doesn't look like one . . ."

"Do you think he's cute, Pollie?" her cousin Garn grinned at her, well into his cups.

"Frack off," she scowled back, settling herself on the haybale between Seiran and her father. Junior murmured something, waking from his baby sleep and she reached for him, setting his head against the bodice of her dress. With as much dignity as an old married lady should have, she undid the buckles and let him nurse. Seiran brushed his lips across the top of her shorn head and she leaned into him, the paragon of domesticity.

"This is a funeral," Seiran reminded Garn. "Show some respect."

The Galactic Chancellor continued speaking, long-winded and dreary. Polla was just dozing off again when they were interrupted.

"Pollie, dear?" Her aunt Pollana peered in through the doorway. "Yer Ma says there's a call for you on the comm. In the house."

"A call for me, here?" Polla asked, a little surprised.

Her aunt shrugged. "Some Twi'lek on the wideband. She says you've won a fabulous prize."

"A telemarketer?" Polla shifted Junior to the other side, standing up. "You're interrupting me at a funeral for a telemarketer?"

Her aunt grinned, missing teeth and all. "You never know, dear. Surely it's worth taking a chance?"

Seiran rolled his eyes. Polla glared at him. "Okay," she said, burping Junior with one hand and refastening her shirt with the other. "I'm coming."

XXX

Malak

On the Senate floor, representatives of the race that had destroyed all of his hopes enacted their little comedy for the senate kath hounds. The man in the Mandalore's armor took off his helm, fair-haired like most of them were. In his face Malak could only see a little of the child he remembered meeting, the boy in the Fett's tents who was always asking to play chess.

_How are you even alive, Oerin Lin? And where did Red find you? _

_Or, where did you find her?_

There was too much he didn't know.

At the end of the war there had been three events that had led to the rest. Three actions they had chosen – or rather _Revan_ had chosen – that doomed their fate like granslugs caught in a salt pool. There was the duel where she almost died. There was the decision to eliminate Lin. And there was Malachor V. The first act had been one of desperation. The second and third carefully plotted as much as any senatorial intrigue.

Malak closed his eyes again. He could almost hear her voice in his head. That old argument, the one she'd won. She always won.

"_If we don't destroy the Clan Lin completely someone else will just use them again. _He _could use them again, Mal. They won't learn, they won't grow a conscience and become civilized. To Mandalorians _we're_ the barbarians. If we leave them anything at all they'll rebuild, scrap together another Fleet, or just a few drop-ships and go again. It's what they _do."

"_If you destroy Lin, another clan will take their place. It's like my father, Red. Kill him, there are twenty-six other noble houses standing in line to ascend to the Senate seat. Nothing will change. Nothing ever does."_

"_It will this time. He found a tool to make war with," she answered, voice cold. "And we'll shatter it to pieces. I know a better tool. One last war and then peace. Forever peace." Her voice was dispassionate, but her eyes flickered with doubt. And guilt. Her hand brushed the side of his face. He'd caught a piece of shrapnel groundside on Weis, and the cut wasn't healing. Not like it should. She hesitated. "You know, Mal, what we must do?"_

_Malak nodded. He was so tired, and he had to tell her the things she already knew. "We're not doing so well, Red. The other Knights, some of them –"_

"_Just more casualties," she said, voice empty. She hesitated. "It's still power, Mal. It's something we can use." Her eyes pleaded with him, almost as if she wanted him to deny it, tell her that she was wrong. _

"_Your computer told you that?" He'd read the same Sith archives that she had. Long ago, when they were children and curious; and more recently with deadly intent. He'd seen the same things that she had. But that thing on Kashyyyk only spoke to her._

_She looked away, voice quiet and small. Her hand dropped from his cheek. "It doesn't have to tell me. I can feel it."_

"_We all can," he muttered. But she was right._

"_Take out Lin, first," Malak said. "The other clans will fall in line and go to the treaty." He took a deep breath, again saying out loud what both of them already knew. "There are those – among the Fleet and Order who won't –"_

_Revan nodded. Her face was completely empty. "We'll have to make sure that they're on the right ships. Transmissions are spotty here, ever since we took out the communication nets. It will take some time for the news to reach the Core. "_

_Malak nodded and gave her a twisted smile. "My father told me information is everything . . . if we let it be known that part of the Fleet is off chasing the remnants of the Mandalorian threat it will buy us time . . ."_

"Dustil?" A girl's voice broke into his reminiscences sharp as a frag grenade. Malak blinked.

Across the table Captain Onasi was still scowling. The holoscreen circus continued, far below them on the Senate floor.

"_Who will act as regent for Clan Lin?" _Galactic Chancellor Nal'Gahar asked formally. _"Do you have a member of your family that the other Mandalorian clans will accept?"_

The blonde Mandalorian smiled and shook his head. "_I am the last of my people,"_ he declared.

Canderous Ordo coughed. _"No, there is another,"_ he said, flatly. The words sounded rehearsed.

_I'm sure that they are._

"_Yes, there is another,"_ the old woman agreed. _"If the other clans are in accord, she will act as regent."_

_Is that your cue, Red? Your chance to stand up and take over the Mandalorians and my father's Senate seat in one fell swoop? _

_You fool. _

"Dustil?" The girl had black hair and her features were vaguely familiar. She was dressed all in white. Scattered, he tried to place a name to her house. Makeon, maybe, they ran multiple lines of clones and alternated their succession from one generation to the next. Wearing no colors meant she was either outside of the lines of succession or too important to bother with needless formalities. He was too distracted to care about which.

_What are you going to do with your Mandalorians, my love, after they've danced for the crowd? Do you think they'll just go away?_

There was a muttered rush of sound over the dulcet conversations of the Observatory coming from the holocam speakers. The spectators below them gasped in astonishment and there was her face on the screen. Malak felt the pilot tense and he turned away so he didn't have to look at her, look at him.

All he could feel from Mal was the same bright love. And her emotions – determined, focused – expectant –Malak shied away from seeing more. When her dreams had been open to him seeing the pilot's face in them was bad enough.

"Are you drunk?" the black-haired girl giggled.

Malak felt his face break into a scowl and resisted the urge to push her out of the way.

_There is no passion, there is serenity . . . _

"What is she doing with the Mandalorians?" he demanded of the pilot.

"_My name is Revan Starfire D'Reev Lin Ordo Onasi," _her voice came over the holoscreen. _"And I am recognized as a leader by the traditional Mandalorian custom. I was adopted by Clan Lin. I am entitled to serve as regent."_

"_D'Reev Lin?" _the Chancellor echoed. Chambers was full of the hiss of whispers, as those who had not known, reacted.

"Shut up, _Dustil," _Carth muttered. He turned to the girl, who was still standing there, faint flush of pink on her cheeks. "This isn't really a good time, Citizen –"

"Aramis. I'm a friend of your son."

Sharp peal of girlish laughter behind them, Malak half-twisted in his seat to see. The Racharn girl – Leeshansintina -- and a few other Amaltines were avidly watching Aramis' progress.

"Aramis Makeon," Malak said, making an educated guess. Phin were fair, generally, and Qel-Ria almost never came to the Observatory, at least in his day. Malachor had a little friend in Makeon too, he remembered. When he'd been an Eglantine the Makeon heir his age had been male. Dario. And he'd been an ass. "You're Arry's sib, yes?"

"It's cool that Korrie's okay," the girl admitted. _Another potential ally for my son. _He tried to smile at her but the holoscreen's words distracted him.

"—_matter must be taken to Galactic vote. The sovereignty of the Mandalorian people has been accepted; but your choice of regents is . . . unusual."_

"_I will back the claim. I have formally recognized Revan Starfire D'Reev as my Second, based on her marriage to my late son –"_

The pandemonium increased at the old man's words.

"Wow," Aramis said, sliding into the empty seat at the table next to him. "It's all really out in the open now. Did you know, Dustil? Did you know, like everything?"

"You owe me ten credits," one of the other Am's yelled to her. "Didn't I call it?"

"Double it," the Makeon girl laughed back. "I say she'll kill the old man before next week."

"Where will your House side?" Malak asked her, trying to sound casual.

Obviously he failed. Her eyes narrowed.

Behind her, his son's face on the holoscreen. Malachor smiled tentatively for the galaxy that wanted to rip him to shreds. _Helpless. Innocent._

_Control . . . _

"That's none of your business," Aramis said. "Just because you saved Korrie's life, don't think you can understand the game."

The Galactic Chancellor's voice cut in and the camera hastily cut back to his face. His beak chattered, agitated.

"I'm a quick study," Malak snapped. He turned his head deliberately away from her, angling his chair so that his back faced her. There were several greater insults in Coruscanti high society; but that simple gesture was high on the list. He heard her hiss of indignation and sharp quick steps as she walked away fast.

"You have such a way with people," Captain Onasi snarled. "Maybe you should carpet bomb her favorite store now? Or send in some of your minions to hunt her down when she's at school?"

"—_matter must be voted on in accordance with sovereign Mandalorian traditions—" _the Galactic Chancellor was saying. _"Before the regency can be accepted." _The head of the Republic looked almost relieved as he continued. _"That means, all Mandalorian clans must be in accord." _His tentacles shrugged. _"Only Ordo and Lin and Rialis are here out of the five –"_

"This is part of her plan too, isn't it?" Malak hissed back. "You of all people should know better! You fought against them. Saul told me that your dedication was –"

The man's face darkened at the mention of his former mentor. Malak gathered he had made a severe error in judgment right before the Captain's fist connected with the side of his face. Hard. Dustil's body was still unfamiliar, and lighter than he expected and he failed to compensate in time. The blow sent him flying off the chair and awkwardly onto the floor. The table they'd been sitting at landed half on top of him, and the crystal decanter shattered, splashing firewater everywhere.

"_Clan Weis has renounced the other clans, they have no more say in our governance since their false Mandalore was overthrown," broke in an amused female voice. "But here is the headwoman of Zal. I'm afraid she doesn't speak your tongue, but trust me, she agrees with the decision."_

On the floor Malak struggled to regain his concentration. _If you Force choke Red's true love, she'll never get over it._ His thoughts were black and almost hysterical.

"Seven credits on Onasi younger," a dry Coruscanti voice crisped behind him.

"Ten on the Captain."

"We were in a café on Palisadia and one of the Pads there said Dustil was a _Jedi. _My money's on him," giggled a girl's voice. _Leeshansintina._

_Control . . . _

Malak got to his feet slowly, rubbing his jaw. It ached. Pain, like an old memory.

On the holoscreen the camera had panned to the public viewstation, where a large contingent of plainly-dressed humans clustered, like a pack of starving drajak, closing in for the kill. _Mandalorians, every one. _Their spokesperson was a blonde-haired woman, hair looped in the traditional braids they wore for the women's battles. _That is to say for trade. And what a trade they've made this time. Does Red have any idea? Gods . . . _

"You have to stop this, _we_ have to stop this," Malak said to the Captain, who was staring at him, face bloodless with shock.

The man's guilt at hurting his son mixed with his hatred of Saul – and Malak himself – so hard that it was like a drum on his senses.

"I trust Canderous Ordo a hell of a lot more than I trust you," the pilot muttered. "He saved our asses more times than I can count. _You, _on the other hand –"

"Don't," Malak murmured, aware again of the avid eyes watching them. _"Don't."_

On the screen the Mandalorian she-spawn's head was bent, and a dark-haired boy, just into manhood, was whispering in her ear. The face had an adult's angles now, and a wisp of a beard at his chin; but it was still familiar.

"Mekel, Mekel Jin." Malak said. "Does she have him working with the Mandalorians now, too?"

For a moment, the Captain looked genuinely surprised. "You know Mekel?" Then his face dropped back into a scowl.

"He was my ward." Malak stared at the boy's face on the viewscreen. _The son I never wanted Malachor to be. The innocent monster. He reminded me of Revan. No sith'aerah –but his hands were bloody and his heart was good. Trusting. He trusted me and I threw him into that snakepit of an Academy, the one we fashioned. _"I won't have him consorting with Mandalorian _scum."_

The pilot laughed. "This is rich. You, of all people – when we were on Korriban you know what Mekel was doing?"

"I was sent reports," Malak whispered, closing his eyes. _Another thing to atone . . . I died, isn't that enough?_

_I don't give a ronto's ass about atonement, I just want my son to be safe. _Those were his thoughts. And yet – _there is no safety for him with the Mandalorians. No safety for the galaxy with the Mandalorians . . . I thought we'd destroyed them. Red, you fool . . . _

"Don't you see? She's playing right into my—into D'Reev's hands!"

"She's not killing anyone and she's getting her son back," the Captain said. "And it's none of your damn business!" He moved closer, lowering his voice. The spectators that had formed around them stepped back a little, giving them room, presumably for the next round of blows.

"Malachi used them _before." _Desperate, Malak continued, moving closer, lowering his voice as well. He pulled on the Force lightly, carefully. _Nothing to see here, move along . . . _pausing as he felt most of the crowd begin to lose interest. Mostly. "Didn't you know? Didn't Saul tell you? At the end of the war --"

"At the end of the _Mandalorian War_ I was back on Telos," the Captain hissed under his breath. "With my wife and son. It was the last time. The last happy time."

Below them on the Senate floor, a round of deliberations and arguments continued, all staged, probably, to lead to the point where Malachi would seize power over both Revan and the Mandalorian clans.

"_Are there any objections?"_

"_Corulag objects."_

_Token gesture. Probably someone paid off by my father._

"Didn't Saul tell you?" Malak repeated. They were standing very close now, near the window. His eyes scanned for listeners even as he lowered his voice more, making the pilot strain to hear it.

"Tell me what?"

Malak glanced warily around them. With the prospect of no more violence incoming, and his own subtle dissuasion their spectators' attention had shifted mainly back to the floorshow.

"The Mandalorian Wars," he whispered in the pilot's ear. "The Mandalorians dared to attack the Republic because they had one thing the Fleet did not. Cloaking fields large enough to hide entire ships. Tech developed in a Kuati lab, licensed to SysTech Corp. Tech sold to them. By my father."

"The Republic didn't have cloaking technology until _you Sith _started attacking our planets," the pilot spat back.

"Right," Malak said, terse. "The _Republic_ wasn't given that technology. The _Mandalorians_ were. Do you understand?"

"_Assent. Corulag withdraws its objection."_

"_Widek objects."_

"What -- what are you trying to say?" the pilot's voice cracked.

Malak moved closer to the window and the pilot followed. They stood, side by side, watching the gravlifts below them, as each Senator came forward one-by-one, detaching from the wall, to the center of the room, to cast their vote, yay or nay, in favor of the D'Reev and Mandalorian issue.

He closed his eyes. "The Mandalorians are a weapon. You _know_ what they're capable of. Revan . . . and I sacrificed everything we were to destroy that weapon. To end the war." His voice hardened. "You trust Canderous Ordo? General Ordo? Then ask him. Ask _him_ to tell you how it was. Ask _him_ what they're going to do now, now that they've got D'Reev influence and credits at their back."

"They're dying, in the Malachor system. The fifth planet lost orbit somehow, became unstable –"

_Unstable? _Unstable? _Gods, he doesn't even know that? How can he not know? Did Red not tell him? _

"They deserve it," Malak said, softly. "The fifth planet was a holy place, sacred to Mandalorian culture. No foot was allowed to touch the its blasted ground. Long ago, they fought a great war there and afterwards their unblooded boys were sent to fight battles of wind, high in the atmosphere, pit themselves against each other and the elements. But never fall. Never touch the ground." He closed his eyes.

"_This is how a war ends," she said, voice empty. "Not with a bang, not with a blaze of glory—"_

"_Their fleets are in position around the diplomatic convoy, Admiral Starfire," the nervous ensign said. The title of Admiral was new, and would be short-lived. In another day, she would be called simply, 'my Lord.'_

"_Open a channel to the _New Hope,_" Malak told the ensign. Onscreen, the young Jedi they'd placed there looked up at them, obedient. _To the last.

"_Tina," Revan said. "Now."_

_The young face turned and nodded to someone out of camera range._

_The hologram dissolved into a million dots of light and—_

"Malachor V," he said out loud. Just a whisper. "It should have finished them forever. It was _supposed _to be the end of this."

Captain Onasi shook his head. "That was a rumor," he muttered. "To hide the fact that you'd run off beyond the Rim with a third of the Fleet—"

"No. Not a third. We left with only ten capitol ships, maybe five squads of fighters. One carrier. The rest . . . we destroyed. And all the people on them. A gravity well imploded at Malachor V. In the middle of the armistice. On Revan's orders."

"No," Onasi repeated. "The Mandalorians broke the treaty. They destroyed the diplomatic convoy. There was a battle –"

"Ask your friends in the Fleet. Ask Dodonna. Rensha. Antilles. Sand. They were there – with us. They knew. We did not act alone – we—"

"High Admiral Forn Dodonna is dead," the pilot snapped. "She died a hero's death battling _your _forces at the Star Forge–"

Strange to feel something, hearing of Forn's death. Surprise, maybe sadness. _Most of what I know about the last year comes from an eight-year old's mind. I didn't know she died. She was a friend. She was a mentor to us both. She took us in when the Jedi cast us out._

Maybe guilt. Maybe.

"_Assent. Widek withdraws its objection."_

"_Assent. Corellia sides with D'Reev."_

"_Assent. Byss sides with D'Reev."_

"_Object. Archon objects."_

"Guilt is a great motivator," Malak said, acidly out loud. "Half of our remaining forces defected when they realized what we had become. After that, many died _hero's deaths _trying to stop us."

The pilot wasn't stupid. "You're saying there was a –a coup? Part of the Fleet –"

"We were all sick of war," Malak said quietly. "The war was part of the game. A cause to unite the Republic. We weren't supposed to win, we _couldn't_ win. Unless we swept the board clean and made a new one." His voice faltered. "We sacrificed everything we had to stop the Mandalorian threat and you're letting D'Reev have them back."

"There can't be more than a few thousand Mandalorians left—you don't understand. And what you did afterwards was—"

"Worse? Don't you think I know that? _Force – I _was there, Captain. We gave the orders. We built the Fleet. I harnessed the power of the Star Forge and in the end it consumed me . . ._"_

"_Assent. Archon withdraws its objection."_

"_Object. Dathomir objects."_

The man's mind whirled like a maelstrom, but did not crack. For the first time, Malak saw a Carth Onasi who had been a Republic war hero. Who had led men into battle. Taken risks. Survived against incredible odds. Faced down the Dark Lord of the Sith on the deck of the Star Forge and won.

"My son," the Captain said quietly. "I want Dustil back. I want his life back. I want _you_ out of it. Out of his life, out of hers, and out of mine."

"I want that too," Malak whispered. Across from them, she stood, Malachor half-hidden in a fold of her robe, her arms folded neatly in a Jedi pose. And below her, the Senators deliberated her fate. In the light that filtered down from the dome she looked like a statue carved in ice. He closed his eyes so as not to see.

"_Objection withdrawn. Dathomir votes with D'Reev."_

"_Assent, House Phin sides with D'Reev of Coruscant."_

"Get them out of here. Without her or Malachor the Mandalorians will have no real power. Without her or Malachor, DReev's line ends and the other Houses will destroy my father utterly. In this game, he's overextended. _They _know how he used the Mandalorians before. And the Sith. Get them out of here and I will leave your son."

"That's the plan," the pilot said, stony-eyed. "That's what we're going to do. So. Leave."

"Get them out of here to some world where they've never heard of any of you and I will," Malak whispered. "Beyond the Rim, or some backwater, somewhere Malachor can grow up to just be a man. And Red can—" He shook his head, wondering even as he tried to imagine Revan on a sub-tech planet, planting crops, digging ditches, doing whatever the ground-locked did.

The pilot's hand dug into his arm. "You're not leaving my sight," he hissed, "until Dustil's back where he belongs." His face twisted. "And Canderous is worth ten of you. All he wants is his family—"

"His _family? Ordo's_ family? All he wants his family to be reunited? All he wants is his clan's boys to be blooded? To regain the honor they lost? You have to know what that _means!_"

So easy to hate. That had always been the problem. Malak envied the Mandalorians for a moment. They never bothered with hate. The Mandalorian language had twenty ways to say barbarian outlander and none to say hate – not in the true sense of the word.

"_Listen _to me, he'll ask for ships. Not war ships. No, they're marginally too subtle for that. But clever. Very clever with their tech. Something that seems useless. Freighters, old carriers, cargo ships to get their people off their dying system in search of new colonies." His voice dropped, bitterly. "Preferably inhabited ones, with some kind of sentient indigenous life that will prove a glorious challenge. They won't attack the Republic again. Not in your lifetime, perhaps – not without a lot of help from my father . . . but somewhere, now, a star system, a quadrant, sleeps in peace never dreaming of the death that will fall from the sky . . ."

He watched Captain Onasi's face flicker with an expression of near-comprehension. "Revan would never let that happen," he began, uncertainly.

"I have no idea what she'd do," Malak said. "But she must know, she was there the same as I was —"

"She doesn't remember!"

"She remembers something. She must. She's –"

"— _not," _hissed the Captain. "She's _not your wife."_

"I don't know what she is," Malak admitted. He closed his eyes. "It doesn't matter. My son. Make my son safe, Captain. Do this and you'll never see me again. Any of you."

_I think. _

The truth was, he didn't know. What he'd done, he'd only read about. The power of the ancient Sith to transcend death. What happened after wasn't in any scroll that Malak had ever found.

"What did you do to Bastila?"

The abrupt change of subject rattled Malak. He saw the pilot's mouth twitch, almost pleased.

"I made her my apprentice," he said flatly. "It doesn't matter now, it's done."

"_How hard this must have been for you, young Padawan." Malak came closer, never leaving those two round wide eyes. In the flickering torchlight they looked black, but they were blue, he remembered. Such an honest blue._

_She didn't struggle, bound on the stone slab. Her small chin lifted, stubbornly._

"_What do your thoughts tell you, Padawan Bastila?"_

"_I'm a Jedi Knight, now. Knight Bastila Shan."_

"_The Jedi made you a Knight, when they entrusted you with their most precious possession?" He came closer. "I can see your mind, little one. Difficult, living with all of her pain and none of the – advantages."_

"_There's enough of her in me to know one truth, Malak. She'll destroy you. Utterly."_

"_Is there enough of her to know another? A part of you that remembers . . . ?"_

"_You tried to kill me," Bastila whispered. Something inside of her opened, like a dark flower. Her teeth bared, defiant. "And you failed, Malak."_

"_I wanted to live, Red." His gloved hand touched her clenched fist. "I had become a liability to you, but I still wanted to live. That's all any sentient wants, in the end, isn't it? The old cycle . . . suns rise and fall. Do you think the Jedi will let you live, after what you've done? Do you think they can afford to let you live?" Malak shook his head. "They won't call it death, of course. Just the redemption. Like what they've done to your body. A new personality. A carefully constructed shell." He paused. "It's your destiny, with them. Both of you." He bent his head to her hand, pressed the prosthesis against it. She flinched. "I can offer you something far greater."_

"_My name is Bastila Shan, and I am a Jedi Knight." Her breath was ragged. "All I have is her memories, so that I can guide her. But I am still Bastila Shan and I am a Jedi—"_

_He called the lightning and her words dissolved into screams._

"Aldaraan objects."

There. If he'd blinked he would have missed it. Behind Revan and Mal, where the old man stood like a bird of prey surveying his domain – a tilt of his head, perhaps a frown. From this distance it was too far to tell.

The Chancellor responded with traditional words, and then Malachi D'Reev spoke again, voice even and calm and assured. The voice of reason. All sorts of assurances. Mutual benefit. Trade opportunities. Historical statutes.

"_Aldaraan objects," _the Senator to Aldaraan repeated.

There was a rush of voices over the speakers from the tiers of representatives beneath them, like the rustle of leaves in the wind. Across from them Revan's head tilted down to her son's, her arm pulled him closer, protective.

"_Name your grounds," said Malachi D'Reev._

XXX

_Polla Organa_

Polla came into the kitchen. Every available surface was lined with cooling thisla pies and ground nerfburger tarts. Bolts puttered around the wreckage, joints squealing indignantly with overwork, from the oven to the moisturator. Her mother sprawled on one of the kitchen stools, frowning at the hazy image on the commlink.

"— good marks in xenososh and fifth-dimensional math, but my Polla never was one for books."

"Ma —" Polla began.

"Citizen Wen?" The light-skinned Twi'lek on the commlink gave her a breathtaking smile. She was lavender, maybe. Or pink. It was hard to tell in the fuzzy image. "My apologies for bothering you in the middle of a time of sadness and loss, but it really was quite important that I reach you before the contest deadline runs out. You see, you may have won some fabulous prizes!"

"Hm," Polla answered, shoving a tart into her mouth. It was too hot and her tongue burned. She cuddled Junior in her arms, grimacing. "Yeah, so I heard. So. What's the catch?"

"Have you heard of the galactic Sabine-Ooxley standard personality test?"

"No," Polla mumbled through a mouthful of spiced nerf. "You want me to take it? What's in it for me?"

"Really fabulous prizes!" the Twi'lek repeated. Her wide eyes blinked over her small pointed smile. Her button nose wrinkled, charmingly and her head tails quivered with excitement. Polla stifled a yawn.

"This is a family tragedy," she said. "Why are you calling me here at my Ma's?"

"She said she couldn't reach you at home, dear." Molla Organa interjected, ever so helpfully.

"Cute baby," the Twi'lek added. "What's his name?"

Molla groaned. "Don't get her started. She has this outlandish idea —"

"_Ma!" _Polla shot her mother a warning glance. She never should have told her that stupid story. Anyways, it was none of this stranger's fracking business.

"It's for my husband to decide that," Polla replied, serene. "So, what's this test? You never did say what I'd won."

The Twi'lek giggled. "An Ophini Mach XXI, a Ferel Corp. holographic representation of the galaxy with resolution up to thirty parsecs per kilobyte, and . . . a collector's edition of the cast of the _Ebon Hawk_ crew, complete with the discontinued Revan redeemed model, suitable for children of all ages." A faint frown furrowed her immaculate brow. "I'm not sure though, your son looks kind of small . . . I don't know that much about human babies. Is he going to get bigger soon?"

"They grow up so fast," Molla Organa sighed. "Jasp and I always regretted only having the one, you know. Well, Pollie dear, don't you already have the collector's edition of the _Ebon—_"

"_Shut up, Ma," _Polla muttered through gritted teeth.

_An Ophini Mach scooter? Fracking hell, you could buy something that would go intergalactic for that price. Thing does everything but jump to hyperspace and make kaffa. Seiran would kill for it . . . _

"What's this test?" Polla demanded.

"It's a personality thing. Calibrated for your career, species and general background. I need to ask you a few questions, that's all."

Molla leaned back against the counter, nearly upsetting a tray of thisla pie. Bolts moved in hastily to recover the offending object.

"Ask away — no, wait a minute. How did you get my name?"

"You're Polla Wen, registered smuggler? Used to work the Corellian Spire? Native of Deralia, right?" The Twi'lek giggled and covered her mouth with a delicate hand. "It's a marketing survey. You know, random selection."

"Totally random," she added. "Now, do you want to get these fabulous free prizes or not? The offer expires today. That's why I decided to call here, when I couldn't reach you at your home address."

"Well it's gotta be better than that damn Senate thing," Polla muttered.

"Senate thing?" the Twi'lek chirped.

"Just some fracking vote on Mandalorians or something," Polla shrugged. "I don't know why I was watching, really."

"You should stay away from politics," the Twi'lek agreed. "Now, let's get to the questions." She folded her hands neatly in front of her and lowered her voice. It looked like she was trying to sound official. Despite the annoyance, and the almost certain feeling Polla had that this was some kind of scam – pyramid scheme or cult, maybe -- she'd seen them all before -- Polla sort of liked her.

"What's your name?" she interrupted, the babble of official-sounding legal terminology that the Twi'lek was reciting.

"Who me?" the Twi'lek squeaked. "It's -- Lena. Lena Wee."

"That's a nice name, dear," Molla interjected.

"Ma, don't you have some guests to see to?" Polla glanced at her, cradling Junior. His dark eyes were open, watching her face and he cooed, blowing a bubble of baby spit. She cooed back and his baby face split into a toothless grin.

"You like kids, huh?" Lena observed.

"Motherhood's great. You should try it," Polla responded automatically. "I mean, when you're older." Lena didn't really look old enough to have a job, even. Then again, Twi'leks tended to grow up kind of fast.

"Yeah well . . ." Lena's expression didn't quite match the tone of her voice. Her smile grew brighter. "On to the questions. We need to hurry."

"I've got some other stuff to do," she added.

"I'll be in the barn, hon." Her mother left the kitchen, trailed by faithful Bolts.

Without further preamble the questions began.

"Okay, you are traveling with a companion when you encounter complications. Hypothetical: you and your companion are captured and separated. If you both remain silent, one year in prison for each of you. However, call Therion a traitor and he will serve five years while you will serve –"

"Therion? Why'd you pick that name?"

"I got it from your arrest record on Corellia. You know, if you don't mind me saying so, Polla, he seemed like a bad influence. Treacherous kinda bad news core-slimy guy. I have a brother like that. Serious bad news – but so anyways, what do you do?"

"The same thing I _did, _do," Polla snapped back, slightly rattled. "I accuse that asshole, just to be safe, and then bribe the guards and get the hell out of the sector."

"You wouldn't trust him to stay silent or anything? Interesting."

"I wouldn't trust anyone to stay silent in a case like that. Would you?"

"Well, this isn't really about me. Remember, you must answer truthfully, knowing the consequences. I must demand honest acceptance of the proper behavior."

Polla sat down and the table, rocking Junior in her arms. "Get on with it then."

"Hypothetical: you are at war. With a rival smuggling operation, I mean. Deciphering an intercepted code, you learn two things about your enemy. A single spot in their defense will be at its weakest in ten days, and they will attack one of your trade convoys in five days. What do you do with this information? What is the most efficient course of action?"

"Their defense? You mean one of their bases?"

"Yeah, sure – one of their bases. Their main base of – smuggling operations. Do you cancel your convoy and keep the goods?"

"What are they carrying?"

"What?" The Twi'lek's voice squeaked again. On the screen, her mouth kept smiling, as bright as ever.

"What do I stand to lose, if I sacrifice the convoy? If I stop the run, I'll tip them off. Is it worth it?"

"They're carrying . . . whatever they usually carry. Spice? Remember, you must answer truthfully."

"I do nothing. I alert the local authorities in ten days to my rival's location. They go in, clean them out, problem solved."

"That's . . . interesting." The smile never faltered.

"Thanks." Polla reached for another tart. Junior gurgled gently. "More questions? Did I win?"

More questions followed all along the same lines. It was really pretty simple. Very similar to the test she'd taken years ago to get her smuggler's license in the first place.

"Of course I wouldn't trust my boss. I mean, the way things work, one minute you've got one boss and the next someone else has taken over the whole operation. If you don't look out for yourself, you'll get trampled in the stampede, you know?"

"That's the last question on the test," Lena nodded. Her head tails were wrapped around her neck now, but her face still wore that bright tractor beam smile. "One more question, though. Just . . . because, okay? We're running out of time."

"Go ahead, shoot."

"An . . . old friend offers you unlimited wealth and power. Another friend tries to stop you from taking it. The only way to you can . . . gain the position is to kill the second friend. What do you do?"

"What the frack kind of question is that?" Indignant, Polla got to her feet. "Why the frack would I want unlimited wealth and power?"

"You don't? What if you could solve the galaxy's problems?"

"I'm a bloody smuggler, or I was. I want to see new things, meet interesting people, and fly a fast ship. Maybe be famous. That's it, that's all."

"Oh, of course." The Twi'lek nodded sympathetically. Her head tails tapped. "Congratulations! You've won. Your fabulous prizes will be shipped from our nearest supply depot on Yavin –"

"Yavin?" Something about this whole thing had been off from the start. "Did you say Yavin? Do you work for Suvam?" Something occurred to her. "What the frack is this? Is Suvam . . ."

_On to me?_

_Shit._

"Suvam Tan? Do you know him?"

"None of your business. Are you working for him?"

"I didn't know that you knew –" the Twi'lek's voice trailed off and there was a long pause. It was strange the way she kept smiling, though, as if her image was frozen. Glitch in the transmit, maybe. "You must have done work for him, right?"

"Maybe." That kind of thing wasn't something you just admitted to, ever.

"Well, that explains a lot, but it's really inconsequential at the moment. Listen. There's one condition on these fabulous prizes."

"Of course there is." _Here comes the stick. Here comes the scam._

"Sabine-Ooxley is a common personality test. You've matched the parameters set in memory, sort of. If someone asks you in the future to take this test again, you have to answer these questions differently. Do you understand? You have to lie."

"Why would anyone –" her voice broke off. Polla hugged Junior closer. _Test my personality? Test my personality against what? Against who?_

Insane as it was, she could only think of one reason. "Who the frack are you? Let me talk to Suvam! I can explain . . . I didn't mean to imply that – that I was her, I was only trying to get my fracking credits!"

"Polla!"

Seiran's voice sounded frantic. Polla turned around. Her husband and father stood in the doorway to the kitchen. Behind them, the murmur of voices, excited ones.

Jasp Organa crossed the room in three long strides and took her arm. "Honey, we've got problems."

On-screen the Twi'lek snorted. "_You've_ got problems? Bantha poo doo."

"I've got to go," she added. Her voice dropped. "You're a nice person, Polla Organa." Her long lashes fluttered. "Be careful." The transmission fizzled out, abrupt.

Open-mouthed, Polla just stared at Sei and her father. "I think Suvam's onto me," she whispered. "It was so bloody _stupid_ but I called him and he thought I was –"

Her father shook his head, interrupting. "Bigger than some Exchange boss, Pollie. My fracking brother and his loyalty to that bloody Republic! He's just hung you out to dry."

Various Organa relatives were peering in through the door, whispering.

"Out." Jasp Organa said to them. Seiran took her hand, led her out of the other kitchen entrance and down the hall to her old bedroom. Her parents followed behind, silently. Their expressions were bleak.

"Just fracking tell me!" Polla erupted, as soon as the door was closed. She sat down on the bed. The three of them loomed over her, looking utterly grim.

Jasp Organa closed his eyes. "I can only think of one way to get you out of this mess, hon. And you're not going to like it." Angrily he hit the wall. They all jumped. "Bloody Republic! They should leave both of you alone!"

"Tell me!" In her arms Junior started to wail.

Seiran shook his head sadly. "Oh, Pollie . . ."

XXX

_Revan_

"_Aldaraan objects," _the Senator from Aldaraan repeated.

"On what grounds?" Malachi D'Reev said from behind her.

Revan pulled Malachor closer. The other objections had been a formality. _"Just part of the dance," _the Senator had explained. _"They'll object, and we'll offer concessions. Then they'll fall in line. They always do." _He'd been smug. But for some reason, the Senator from Aldaraan was playing this out. They didn't need the vote, they had enough to win already. But . . . something . . . something nagged at her. A feeling of unease. Like impending doom.

_Just keep your head up, and keep him close. It'll be okay._

Dimly she could feel Oerin and Mekel through the Force, waiting for the next move. Mission had managed to stack the absentee vote – something that might not hold up under an audit, but hopefully they'd be long gone before that happened. At least, that had been the original plan. Now . . .

_Now how can I leave? If I stay, I get my son. If I leave and something happens to the Senator . . . Malachi holds all the cards._

Her eyes looked up from the hovering line of Senators casting their votes below them and met the wall of reflective glass that hid the Observatory. Somewhere in that room were Carth and Dustil.

_Will you understand, Carth, if I stay? Will you stay with me?_

Revan tried to picture herself as the D'Reev Second. Living in Malachi D'Reev's house. Constantly avoiding assassination attempts. Keeping Malachor safe.

_After all that I've done, maybe this is what I deserve? I could – maybe I could do good. Maybe . . . I should try._

"Permission to speak frankly," the Ambassador to Aldaraan said.

"Granted," said Galactic Chancellor C'tek Nal'Gahar.

"I find it disturbing that the Senate is willing to hand Malachi D'Reev Revan Starfire and a Mandalorian army without a whimper. The loss of her Force powers could be a ruse. I believe it is. How else could she have manipulated events to put herself in this position? Whatever she is, she is too dangerous."

"Threat assessment is still to be determined," the Chancellor replied. "But rest assured, we have the matter well in hand. This is a matter of Coruscanti law. She is Revan Starfire D'Reev. And by our laws, she is only assuming the responsibilities that –"

The Ambassador to Aldaraan smiled. His white-painted face gilded with gold looked amused. "If that were true, of course," he began, "the basis for my objection would be without weight. But is it not."

Behind her the Senator was too good at his game to show any reaction, but Revan felt him stiffen.

"State your grounds, Senator," the old man broke in. "If you have some basis for your accusation let's hear it. The wife of my late son has been genetically scanned and proven to be Revan Starfire, the mother of this child. The representatives of seventy-nine worlds have already voted in favor of her succession. If you think otherwise, let's hear why."

The Senator to Aldaraan turned to the man standing behind him. Another white-painted human face, gilded gold and red in accordance with their formal customs.

"I would like to introduce my secretary, Boon Organa. Secretary Boon has lived on Aldaraan for many years, although originally he came from the Outlier colony of Deralia. He has brought a very disturbing story to my attention, and in good conscience, I cannot let it go unheard."

"Oh, well played," Malachi murmured. He reached a hand out to the console controls of their box, dimming the overhead speakers. Revan turned and looked at him, the sinking feeling in her gut traveling all the way down to her toes.

"Do you know this Boon Organa?" the old man asked her. "Tell me now." He snorted. "Aldaraan is an idealist. He'll see the Republic splinter into pieces all for the sake of his vision of truth and justice." He grimaced. "Idealists are the worst. I wonder who convinced him to make this play."

"Does D'Reev have any official response?" the Chancellor was asking formally.

Malachi thumbed the speakers back on. "A moment, to confer with my daughter-in-law, please. If the Senate will allow."

"Certainly."

He switched the speakers back off. The dead noise enveloped them again, made Revan's word tinny and sharp.

"Polla Organa's uncle," Revan whispered. "I — I think. The name . . . she had —has -- an uncle with that name. Who lived on Aldaraan. Her father's brother."

_I was ten when we went to Aldaraan. Uncle Boon gave me cimarran sweets and a painted doll dressed like an Aldaraanian actor. He smoked cigarras with Da and went to his warehouse and he said I could come work for him when I grew up, but I told him I'd rather be a pilot than a trader and he said —_

She didn't recognize his face, but it was hard to tell under that layer of paint. He'd had more hair, she thought. It had been a long time ago. _Shit,_ a part of her cursed.

"It's one thing to keep a pawn in place, in reserve. Quite another when someone steals it from your board. I took steps to eliminate the risk from Manaan. Perhaps I should have eliminated Polla Organa as well." Malachi sighed.

"Mother?" Korrie had been very quiet. He'd been instructed to be very quiet. Now a wrinkle of a frown appeared between those two red brows.

Her mind caught on the words eliminate and Manaan and puzzled over them.

"It's going to be fine, Korrie," Revan said, trying to smile at him.

"Pity," the Senator continued. "You would have been useful as my Second, Revan. Understand that no matter how this plays out, my arrangement with the Genoharadan has _not_ changed. One way or the other, D'Reev will survive only with me."

He didn't wait for her response. Malachi D'Reev opened the speakers again, and his voiced boomed over them. "Let's hear your little tale in full, Secretary Organa."

"I have a niece named Polla Organa," the man began. "She lives on Deralia. Two and a half years ago —"

XXX

_Malak_

"Tell me, Captain, that this is part of your mad plan too."

"It's not," Carth Onasi whispered. His jaw clenched. Behind them, the Coruscantis murmured. "But I don't see why it matters. She's still Revan to them. She still has every right—"

"— _far as we've been able to figure, the Fleet and the Jedi Council must have been in on the whole thing. When Pollie was on the _Ascendant,_ my brother told me that they met her nurse. Name was Bastila Shan. And the commander of the vessel was a Republic General named Jiya Sand. At the time, Jasp told me, he was pretty impressed the way the whole ship's crew seemed so concerned for Pollie's well-being."_

"No. If this is true, she has no rights. She's not even a person." Malak leaned his forehead against the glass. "Not by Coruscanti law." His voice hardened. _"Is _it true, Captain? Do you know?"

"It's true," Carth whispered. "I talked to her cousin. The real Polla's cousin. I – I wanted to know if she was real. S-someone sent me a letter saying that she was real and I – her cousin's on Manaan. They wanted my help, getting her cousin out of jail."

There were former Sith on Manaan, Malak remembered. Malachor hadn't paid much attention to the news broadcasts, but he'd gathered enough to know they were being held at Malachi's whim. Held in reserve. It was one of the things he'd had the boy warn the pilot about. _Was that why? _He'd never bothered to learn their names.

"Her name was Beya Organa. She was with Yuthura and some others. She laughed at me, she told me she knew Revan better than she ever knew Polla –"

"Beya."

"_There's a rumor that the two of you are plotting something." The Deralian looked up at them from her stack of datapads. "It's the Mandalorians, isn't it? You're going to do something?"  
_

"_Do you care?" Revan raised an eyebrow. "Thought you were going to go back to your home planet, abandon the Order. Turn your back on the Republic."_

"_I care about sentients dying when we have the means to stop it," the Deralian said. "Just like you do." Her heart-shaped face split into a mischievous grin. "But you know that, already, don't you? That's why you're here?"_

"_Aside from Mal, you're my best friend, Beya. That's why we're here."_

"_I heard you got married, on Mandalore. You crazy kids . . . Vrook must be completely white-haired by now." Beya laughed._

"_There's bigger things to worry about than that," Malak said, voice serious. "We need your help."_

"_Deralians make lousy Jedi, anyways. Count me in. Just don't tell my father I'm fighting for the Republic. It's the kind of thing that'd get me beaten up in a back alley, on Derra."_

"I knew Beya," Malak muttered.

_Later, it was easy to twist her feelings of betrayal into hatred against Revan. Later, she followed me without question. _

"This isn't part of my father's plan, either," he said softly. "He'd eliminate Beya if he knew she existed, but keep Polla alive as leverage over Revan . . ."

"_My brother was terribly upset. They stole a Republic citizen's memories and implanted them into the Dark Lord of the Sith's mind. You can imagine how my niece feels about it. What kind of government kidnaps its citizens and takes their memories? What kind of Jedi Council would condone —"_

Beneath the D'Reev box, the Chancellor clicked. "_These are serious charges against the Council and the Fleet. But if they are true, then this woman has no rights. She is a copy of a Deralian smuggler. In the case of D'Reev-Phin versus Phin, the ruling found in favor of the older version. Since this Polla Organa is still alive –" _His tentacles twitched._ "She _is_ still alive, correct?"_

"_She'd better be," _Boon Organa said, folding his arms.

"_Then she has claim to the identity. This woman before us does not exist, and yet, she has committed several grievous offenses against the Republic. There is the matter of the kolto's destruction on Manaan. The battle for the Star Forge –"_

"Damnit! She _saved you all!" _ Carth snapped. His fist hit the glass uselessly. Behind them, nervous laughter.

"_I may not exist, but I can still talk." _Revan interrupted. Her chin lifted, stubborn, in an expression that made Malak's heart ache. _"Malachor is my son. I want my son. I want him safe."_

"_When was he born, this son of yours?" _The Aldaraanian Senator looked smug as if he didn't expect her to know.

Revan's eyes flickered. _"Harvest season, third month of Thry'rakh, seventhday – which would be day two hundred nineteen, Corsuscanti standard. His birthday is in three days time. He was born on Malachor IV, my – husband and my uncle were in attendance. My Uncle, Vrook Lamar will testify to this, I am sure. He's on Manaan." _Her lips curled in a slight smile.

"She remembers," Malak said softly.

"No," Onasi snapped. "Oerin just told her the date. I think. He was there, right? When you . . ."

"How did he tell her?"

"How do you _think?" _ The Captain turned to look at him. "With your damn Force."

_Nothing to see here, watch the floorshow. Their audience's curiosity was growing again. He could feel it like lasers on the back of his neck._

"Mandalorians don't have —"

"That one does. And I don't trust him either, but right now he's still looking a hell of a lot better than _you."_

_So Red not only struck a bargain with the Mandalorians, she found the last heir of Lin who is a Force-user to lead them back to their former glory?_

"Gods," Malak whispered.

"_Without me to protect him, my son's life is in danger." _Revan's hands curled protectively around Malachor's shoulders.

"_We must consider," _said a silken voice from the House Racharn box,_ "whether it is safe to let the son of two former Dark Lords live. Some might consider it a civic duty, to stop such power from ever rising again."_

"_He's eight," _Revan shot back. _"Almost nine. He's a child. Do whatever you want to me, but leave him the hell out of it!" _She knelt down, pulling him closer, whispering urgently in his ear. Her former composure was entirely gone, and Malak could feel his son's fear and confusion – and through that – like an echo – her own.

"_He doesn't have the Force," _Malachi interjected from behind her. _"He cannot repeat his parent's mistakes."_

_Damned if he does and damned if he does not. If he does, the Jedi can take him into custody and he's safe from the Games. But not safe from the random fanatics that will hate him for what we did. Not safe from the Jedi teachings that will lead to a fall like ours —_

"_Test him for it," _Revan said. Her chin lifted again and she straightened to her feet._ "It's the right of any child of Coruscant, isn't it? To be taken to the Temple and tested? I believe it's . . . the law?"_

"_He has been tested," _Malachi said._ "He's as Force-blind as I am."_

"_No," _she shook her head. _"The Jedi know he's not. They showed me . . . "_

"Captain Onasi. Citizen Dustil Onasi. Pardon, but I-I have orders." Dull click of something metal behind them. Slowly, Malak turned around. The red circle of a laser rifle glinted on Carth Onasi's face, mirroring the one he could feel warm against his own. In front of them an entire battalion of Fleet troops had somehow materialized.

_Ambush_. _Two veterans of the wars, ambushed in a Coruscanti bar . . ._

A dark chuckle started to emerge from his mouth and he closed it tightly before more laughter could escape.

The nervous Captain who had spoken fell back, and Jiya Sand stepped forward. The Serrocan looked much older than he had the last time Malak had seen him and his mouth was set in a resolute line. "It seems that we need to talk again, Carth," he said mildly. "Will you come quietly?"

"You owe me the answer to a question first, Jiya." The Captain's voice was deadly.

"Of course." The General nodded. "I didn't know about the _Pearl,_ Carth. Not at first. Rensha kept Rew and I in the dark about that. We wouldn't have stood by and let something like that —"

"No, Malachor. Malachor V. It really happened, didn't it? You and Dodonna and Saul and —"

"We didn't know how she was going to do it. We didn't understand the scale. It was supposed to be a bloodless coup. Do you understand?"

"There's no such thing," Malak said. "You were a fool, Jiya, to think otherwise."

"You have to excuse my son," Captain Onasi said. His mouth twitched. "He's a little upset."

Jiya sighed. "That's understandable."

Behind them, a new voice spoke over the speakers. Serene and very familiar.

"_This is not a matter that can be decided in one day's deliberation. But the Padawan is correct. Malachor D'Reev should be retested for Force sensitivity. And the Padawan is – our responsibility. The Council takes full accountability for them both until such as time as —"_

"_I object." _His father's voice. _"Does the Jedi Council now interfere in the internal affairs of a Coruscanti House?"_

"_Both of their cases involve the Force, Senator. And that falls outside of your domain." _The female voice was dry and amused. _Master Jopheena, you haven't changed. _Malak resisted the urge to turn around. It would, he reflected, probably get him shot.

He began to relax, slowly. _The Jedi are no haven, but they're better than the alternative for now. _Then Revan's next words stopped him cold.

"_They claim that I am not Revan because I don't have her memories, Master Jopheena. But those memories exist, don't they? If I asked for them, would you give them back?"_

"_There would be consequences, Padawan."_

"_Right. My consequences. You damn me for what I can't remember. Don't I deserve to know what it is?"_

"_We will not have you face them blind. You should know, before you make a decision —"_

"_My name was Polla Organa. I woke up on Taris with a head injury. There — there was a man there, Carth Onasi . . . " _Malak didn't recognize the hesitation in her voice, the strange vulnerability. _"He told me we had to rescue Bastila Shan before she fell into Sith hands . . . he — he was —"_

Next to him, the pilot turned around and placed his hands against the glass. The soldiers seemed frozen. Malak turned around too.

Her arms were wrapped around their son, and her voice was shaking. _"We saved Bastila, she told me I had a glorious destiny that I could not ignore. She told me I had the Force. The Jedi on Dantooine . . . told me that we had to find the Star Maps . . . they said I couldn't avoid my destiny. They said Darth Malak would kill me, kill Bastila, destroy the Republic and we were the only ones who could — who could save —"_

"No, Polla," the Captain whispered. "Don't do this."

"_Come with us, Padawan. You and the child both." _Master Zhar reached out a hand from the Jedi's gravlift, which now hovered in front of the D'Reev box.

"_This isn't over," _Malachi said.

"_No," _the Twi'lek responded. _"I fear it's just begun."_

Revan took her son's hand and led him onto the Jedi's platform. Their two red heads sat down on bench sandwiched between Jopheena – and — Kavar, it looked like.

_Don't do this, Red. You don't want to know. It drove us all mad. You don't want to know . . . _

Her head twisted sharply, as if she'd heard him. Malak felt her mind reaching out through the Force, and he sank back into Dustil's body like a stone.

Below on the penitent's ledge, Oerin Lin coughed. The sound rang out in the room and everyone stopped.

"_Silence," _the Mandalorian said. _"You're all forgetting one thing."_

"_Revan's a member of Clan Ordo," _added the woman from the public viewing station. _"She's married to my husband, Canderous. You barbarians may not recognize her identity, but we do. By our laws, she has Mandalorian citizenship."_

"_I'm quite willing to back the Mandalorian claim, regardless of my daughter-in-law's status," _Malachi said.

"_You don't have to go with them, Revan." _Canderous Ordo said.

"_I know that, Cand."_ The camera, which had been panning frantically back and forth between them, finally settled on her face. _"But I have no choice." _Her eyes blinked, cold as jewels. _"Take what you can from D'Reev," _she said. _"To help your people."_

"_We'll take what he promised," _Oerin Lin said, smiling.

"Bloody hell," Malak whispered.

"I agree," Jiya Sand said. Malak turned around. Captain Onasi grabbed his arm in a surprisingly firm grip.

"Whatever it is, Jiya, it will have to wait. My _son_ and I have to go now. To the Jedi Temple."

"I don't want to arrest you, Carth —"

"You can't," the pilot said. "Not without causing a interplanetary incident." He gritted his teeth. "I'm a Mandalorian citizen, now, remember?" He glanced at Malak. "I suppose you are too, son. How do you feel about that? Do you find it upsetting? Nothing like being forced into a corner with your old enemies, is there?"

"Don't let her do this," Malak muttered.

The soldiers looked uncertain. Behind them, the Coruscanti elite were placing bets on something.

Malak didn't want to know what.

XXX

_Beya Organa_

They'd seen the news coverage -- the entire spectacle and the upset. Watched as Revvie won -- and then lost -- her claim to D'Reev. Funny, you think you know everything, and then you discover there's more that you didn't. Beya had considered the D'Reev knights friends once, close friends -- but even she had never known about the child. The marriage was known of course -- the fact that they had been lovers had never been much of a secret, even back when they were all Padawans. That kind of thing was pretty common. And later, during the war, no one cared. When you're facing death every day, you find love where you can. There was an irony here, so thick she could taste it, but it had nothing to do her plans for the future.

Of course half of those plans were still on Manaan with that sycophant Vrook and Yuthura Ban.

"You look like you need a drink," Vikor said, handing her the bottle. Beya Organa stretched her legs out in the co-pilot's chair and stared blankly at the hyperspace coils that made up their viewscreen. The five others that had chosen to come on the ship were all asleep or lost in their own meditations in the cramped crew quarters that made up the rest of the ship.

"More than one," she finally muttered, letting the liquid burn down her throat.

"It's not your fault," the Twi'lek said. For a moment Beya wondered what he was referring to: the Sith War; Revan's fall; that scene on Coruscant (after all, Boon Organa was a cousin, although a distant one); the last six weeks of their imprisonment . . . and then she realized.

"She -- there's a lot more to Sheris than that. She wasn't always like that."

"Oh, I remember her well enough," Vikor said, mouth twisting. "Dangling on Malak's arm like a little gilded beetle. And of course, more recently Oerin's . . ." He gave her a frank stare. "Have you ever thought that maybe she just goes where she thinks the power is? You deserve better."

"Sheris has been through a lot -- "

"You were better off when all you did was duel. When you cut off her arm you should have done her a _real_ favor and finished the job."

Beya winced at the memory. She quickly changed the subject, trading a barb for a barb. "Have you wondered why Davad stayed behind? That man was always a sucker for a lady in distress."

Vikor snorted. "I'd like to see him try. Yuthura would rip him to shreds."

In truth she had wondered about Davad. The Onderonian was quiet -- even growing up together she had never been sure of where his thoughts ran. If he'd reminded Beya of anyone, it would have been Malak . . . and of course, after the fall . . . _that_ comparison had been too obvious.

"Or maybe he and Sheris. They deserve each other," Beya said, a little bitterly. "They can trade stories about who was better in bed, Malak or Rev —"

"Davad Arkan wasn't sleeping with _Revan_," Vikor interjected, raising his brow ridge. He gave a short laugh at her incredulous expression. "Oh please, I thought you knew that! She just let it be thought to keep old Mallie in line . . . " He snorted. "It worked rather well, to a point. I don't know where Arkan got his jollies, actually." His lekku twitched in an attempt at levity and his mouth curled up, revealing his small white pointed teeth. "Maybe he was like you, Beya."

"Frell yourself, Vik."

"I suppose I'll have to, now." The Twi'lek reached for the bottle and she handed it to him.

She twisted a smile. "Hey, whatever gets you through."

"You're welcome on Ryloth, you know. All of you – anyone that wants to stay. My family is quite wealthy and they'll be pleased to have their prodigal son back. Twi'leks are too practical to let a little thing like a Sith past stand in their way for long . . ." He gave a short laugh. It wasn't the first time he'd made the offer, and Beya knew him well enough to know that there'd be no strings. Something struck her.

"You – you want us to stay, don't you?"

His round eyes looked pensive. "I don't think any of us wants to be left alone with our thoughts, Beya. I – I'd like to be close to people who . . . understand."

A long-buried memory surfaced, unwanted and terrifying. The aftermath of Malachor V. She'd screamed her throat raw. Beya could still remember the durasteel floor of the _Progress, _and the world twisting upside down as she screamed and died a million times with each life that winked out in the planet's destruction and the dim awareness that every other Force-user on the ship with her was experiencing the same thing –

-- and the house of ferragrass she'd constructed to keep herself sane blew apart with the force of it. Blew all to pieces. And her screams turned to laughter and the feeling of power was –

_Good, it was good. Necessary, it was necessary. And she'd been grateful, so grateful, like a window in her soul had been opened, a bird set free. And the Dark Lord had come, and it seemed right, suddenly to think of Revvie that way –she'd come to their ship herself, masked and hooded, and Beya was only one in a long line of new Sith royalty, kneeling obeisance before their true leader and her consort -- _

Her eyes met Viktor's, and she knew he was thinking the same thing.

"Before that, we were the angels, Beya. Remember that instead."

The ship's engines hummed sharply, dull hyperdrive whine being replaced with something else.

Beya put the bottle down and scanned the controls, disbelieving. "We're coming out of the jump early. This can't be right!"

Vikor's lekku twitched. "These coordinates are way off. According to the navicomputer we're in the middle of the Cron cluster."

"The Cron -- ?" Their eyes met, and the ship bucked under them. Terrible realization, just enough time to realize what that meant.

_Vrook warned us,_ Beya thought. _Shit._ She took a deep breath and reached for Vikor's hand.

_Good-bye -- _

Their unnamed ship came out of hyperspace and melted into a blaze of light.

Straight into the heart of a sun.

XX

A/N

Thanks Rose, again and again for betaing this and catchin my commas. And ether in advance for your read-through. Rose, I think you're right re: leet sith assassin pov, and so it's been bumped to the next chapter...

I'm not really fond of killing characters off –without good reasons, but in this case, had some. And, I agonized for a very long time over whether I could do this chapter without a Malak pov – but once started, he really wouldn't be quiet.

Thanks you guys all, for reading again. If there's something that isn't clear, tell me!

Next up: Mandalorians in the Jedi Temple.


	26. Mandalorians in the Temple

_Disclaimer: lucasarts, bioware, obsidian, dark horse comics, and some song and literature stuff at end. _

**Chapter 26 / Mandalorians in the Temple**

XXX

_Blade Three of Twelve, Acknahar'tah Division, Elite_

When you live in the shadows, you spend a lot of time in places normal people don't go. Normal people . . . now, that was a laugh. When was the last time he'd met any normal people? Met as in, lived with, loved, talked to . . .not for years. Ever since the end it had just been this. Normals were either targets or obstacles in the way of targets. There were worse lives . . . it must really suck to be a kid growing up on the Xoxon plains, gasping for air, with mutated chromosomes signing your ticket out by twenty-five. Worse to be a limbless vet, like that one begging in the corner there missing an eye too, the poor sod.

Worse to be those brown-robes over there, talking to the medic. Death can come in many ways, and there are worse things than death.

He was one of them.

In a place like Beggar's Alley, you try and blend. The district was an oozing sore of wants, and he let his own merge with the crowd's, shifting his thoughts into a higher tempo, into an endless drone. The growl in his stomach, dry tickle in the back of his throat, that constant craving for a cigarra, a cup of juma, a jolt of stim . . . and of course, desire. That beige robe over there wasn't bad, only a little young. Skin like choca cake, and soft brown hair cropped close to her head. Neat and efficient, like her tidy curves under a Padawan's tan robe. She was serving meal bars to the paupers. Old army surplus, from the look of them – that green foil wrapper was unmistakable when it'd been your main ration for months aboard troop ships. Drops into the desert, the jungle, the sea – twenty different tours of duty groundside in the Mandalorian days – and every one, that same green foil. He could almost taste the chalky dryness on his tongue. His mouth filled with saliva. _Need..._ And he drew closer, watching her.

Her eyes were amazing in that brown-skinned face. Skin like caffa, teeth like cream, and those eyes – a bright bluish green like the oceans of home. Yu-Phaedra, warm mists and soft nights, and sweet incense from the priest's braziers as the trawling ships came home to roost, floating on the air above the sea like great helium birds come back to the nest. Dockside, and always a party. One, two, three steps, and he was in line behind a someone doing the Coruscanti twitch – an old dance, an old sore, just a little one, on her cheek but it would grow and rot and her skin would slough off if she lived that long...

Of course she wouldn't. Live.

The living dead beggarwoman shuffled off and he was next, the vial of nothing already soft and tense in his fingers. Epidermal contact was the way to go. Vectors, ground zero. Baby, this was it.

"Hello," the Padawan-girl said to him softly. Her eyes were amazing. Maybe it wouldn't kill her, Jedi were hard to kill slow. Maybe she'd survive the plague and the riots and he'd come and rescue her, build a castle out of stars, take her far away from the cars and the bars and oh my darling, oh my darling, you are lost and gone forever and I'm dreadful sorry . . . just like the song went.

Those eyes were a net to drown sea-beasts in. Pools of soft water, and the patter of his thoughts stilled to a normal pace for a pause and he nodded his head and reached for the bar of food she offered. The vial went pop in his other hand, sticky with the slight oil and he mock-stumbled, caught the arm she offered, and smeared the grease lightly across her skin. Her wrist was soft and fragile in his fingers, but strong. Combat-trained for peace, like all of them.

_Vector-borne, the plagues. And where are the little epicenters?_

_Everywhere the Jedi come, with their balms, their useless comforts for the hopeless flotsam of a thousand worlds._

Her blue-green eyes looked up at him startled, like an otterlisk caught in the beams.

"You –" she whispered, "I dreamed of you."

"Must have me confused with some other spacer, kid," he smiled, turning it into a leer to earn her disgust. Behind him, Twelve and Nine were finished for the day. No bloodwork now, that would come later. Now back to Arca's lair, palace of whores, and Miss Jin with her clinking clanking chains that she called dresses.

Padawan-girl rubbed her infected hand absently on her robe. Point of contact left a rash sometimes. He'd been inoculated long ago.

He turned to leave.

"No—" she called out to his retreating back. "Wait!"

He didn't.

"Who was that, Thalia?" one of the other Jedi asked her.

Three didn't stick around long enough to hear her response.

_XXX_

_Aemelie Ordo_

The small shuttle banked against the side of the warship. Like all Mandalorian women, Aemelie had studied starship design and construction – how else could one pick the best of the crops to harvest from the galaxy's bounty? Durian ships were sleek like this, and the native Kuati line had the same capacity – perhaps even slightly more raw firepower, she thought, eyeing the wrecked row of turbolasers that surrounded the portside bay. There was an Outer Rim system called Systosahh behind Republic space, where they were rumored to construct ships as fast as the Rakatan fleet. But nothing she had ever studied could compare to the tech that had created this beauty.

As their shuttle turned in for landing, the bridge swam into view. Or rather, what was left of it. Crushed durasteel cables trailed out of the melted hull, exposing the interior to space. Dull gray glimmer of a forcefield. It looked like the navigation and main weapons consoles were completely gone. Of course a ship this well-designed would have slave terminals elsewhere. Perhaps they could be re-routed...

Aemelie's son burbled at her, and she slung him around from her back and into her arms, twisting the curls of his dark hair.

"You're impressed," the Kuati mouse barbarian said. "I didn't realize Nabooans knew ships, Lady Aemelie..."

He seemed to be pressing her for a surname again. Aemelie flashed him a smile instead, as a distraction. "Who wouldn't be impressed?" she asked. "It's the _Aleema, _first ship of your Sith's Infinite Fleet. Pity about the damages...does that field hold off vacuum?"

"Well enough," the Sullustan replied. His large ears twitched. Aemelie considered that perhaps it was in poor taste to refer to the Sith as 'your Sith' in the Republic's deep Core. "You're late for the tour, but I don't mind showing you around." He nodded to their escort, a small cadre of local security personnel and shrugged at them. "For a small fee, of course."

"You can wait here," he added to the others. "This won't take long."

The security squad's leader rolled his eyes. "Always on the take, eh, Meark? Fine then. Damn Sith thing gives me the heebers anyhow."

Aemelie granted them all a comforting smile. "That would be acceptable." She nodded at the Sullustan enthusiastically. "Who could imagine a small Jedi task force could cause so much damage?"

The small mousey-man coughed. "The blast to the bridge was done by Malak's flagship," he corrected her.

Aemelie nodded. "The _Leviathan, _of course. How silly of me." She adjusted her son's sling so that his tiny hand could curl in hers. "Is that here too?"

The _Leviathan,_ she'd been told, was a masterpiece of retrofit technology: Rakatan engineering overlaid on a Republic-built shell. In truth for her purposes, there would be more to learn from that than the beautiful wreck of the _Aleema. _Of course no one seemed to know if the _Leviathan_ had survived the Star Forge's destruction. The Republic was quite reticent with that information, and all other things concerning the size of its current armada and their capabilities. She supposed she couldn't blame them. Victory didn't mean much if it left you gutted and bleeding for the first scavenger drajak to wander by. In such circumstances you'd do what you could to hide the spoor.

"I thought you were interested in cargo ships," the Sullustan reminded her as they made their way down the gangplank and into the _Aleema's _vast main hangar. Room for a thousand drop vessels here. Her breath caught with the image even as the practical side of her mind dismissed the thought. Entirely too big for their current resources.

"Perhaps by the time you've grown, little warrior," Aemelie whispered to her son in the Ordo patois. "You can be blooded on a ship like this."

The womp rat-man looked at her oddly.

"I _am_ interested in transport vessels," she dissembled quickly in Basic. Really, this subterfuge wasn't difficult at all. She had no idea why Gwenarius had been so concerned. The children and the elder women of the clans had gone planetside. The Kuati wetlands, it was said, had all manner of fascinating carnivorous life. Perhaps some of the boys would come out of it with their first blood. One could but hope.

Technically, Aemelie wasn't supposed to be involved in this stage of negotiation with barbarian outlanders – but with the eldest of Rialis and Zal stuck back on Coruscant playing nursemaid to the D'Reev betrayer – she was the most logical choice. It didn't hurt that Aemelie Zal Ordo didn't look typically Mandalorian. Her bloodfather had been a slave from the Teeta system originally, before he won his swords. Her mother had chosen well. He was quite clever, that one. And with a trace of Force-talent, the crones had claimed. Of course that hadn't bred true...it never did, but it was still considered to be a lucky thing.

At least it never had bred true before Oerin Lin. Wryly, Aemelie wondered if Lin's mother had cheated and seeded the whelp from someone other than Fett Cassus. As soon as the idea popped into her head, she dismissed it. No, that would be impossible, the boy's looks were stamped Lin just as much as his ambition and skill with a blade. Perhaps she should have paid more attention in genetics; but the biological side of their destiny had never interested her half as much as interstellar engineering.

"Cargo ships should be fast and true," she told the Sullustan, running her hand along the sides of the bay. The near-dead ship hummed softly; its main reactor would be somewhere in the center, she imagined, well-shielded and secure. "Built like this to last a thousand years."

Mouseman's whiskers twitched as if she'd said something odd. "It's still running on its own generators?" Aemelie added, examining the fit of a power coupling where it ran into the wall. The thing seemed almost to quiver underneath her hands. "Fascinating."

She wished she had Mekel Jin with her, but the Lin slave-Jedi had objected when she'd suggested he come offworld with them when they evacuated the Embassy. And Canderous had insisted he stay on Coruscant as well. It was a shame. Mekel's pet computer would be useful in a place like this, to tap into the schematics. The _Aleema _itself was not for sale of course, but a few diagrams would give her a great deal of information.

"Have your scientists been able to discover more about the Rakatan technology?" Aemelie asked, making her voice appropriately casual and curious.

"I wouldn't know," the womp rat replied, a little too carefully, she thought. "I'm just a tech."

She smiled back at him. "I have an interest in technical design too," she assured him. "And I've never seen such a fascinating example. It's no surprise that Sith Forces decimated the Republic. It must have been glorious."

The Sullustan gave her another odd look. His black eyes rolled in his pointed head, exposing the whites. Amelie beamed at him, reassuring.

They reached the bridge and her breath caught again. Banks upon banks of controls: navigation, telemetry, weapons, life support...some of the panels still flickered with life. The central platform was raised above the floor and ended in a fused and shattered mess, beyond which flickered the thin gray forcefield and then the blackness of space. You could tell a great deal about a ship's potential from seeing the damage it could do; and any cannon that could have cut through this triple-reinforced hull must have been a formidable weapon. More so, because of course it had been fitted onto a Republic design. Aemelie walked closer to inspect the damage more closely.

"This is where Darth Revan met her doom," the Sullustan announced. (Rather inaccurately, Aemelie thought – all things considered.)

A lesser ship with this much structural damage would have shattered on the impact; but the _Aleema's_ hull showed no sign of fracture beyond the point where it had been sheared away. The blast must have been precisely placed. She couldn't help but admire the telemetry that would have allowed for such exactitude.

"This was done with a modified ion turbolaser?" she murmured, voice polite.

"Sonic," the Sullustan replied, twitching an ear. "Projectile. Designed to implode on impact, minimizing the blast radius."

There is of course, no sound in vacuum; but with a missile designed to penetrate a ship's outer hull and then explode, sonics would be devastating. The clans had experimented with such things; but dismissed the line of research when it was found to be too costly for their resources. Ion tech was simple and relatively infinite – as long as your power supplies were not compromised. Aemelie felt a stab of envy for the resources of the Infinite Fleet. Really, it was no wonder that Revan had wanted to take the Star Forge back – all the babbling she'd heard about a 'fall' and other such nonsense paled behind the simple practicality of such a glorious war machine.

Still, Aemelie supposed, perhaps there would be a lack of challenge in having infinite resources. In any case, that was all hypothetical. The clans were limited now and one had to make do with what one could salvage. That was one of the first lessons drummed into any Mandalorian daughter. Make do with what you can salvage or barter or find. Make it serve.

She decided to cut to the frontal assault. "Where is the _Leviathan _now?" she asked. "You must have studied its weapon systems to know so much about how this was done."

"The wreckage from the Star Forge battle was all towed to the Sluis Van shipyards on the Rim. I've only seen the schematics. SysTech bought the salvage rights for the price of a small star system, if the reports are true." Mouseman's large black eyes narrowed. "You're not from Naboo."

Aemelie shifted her son's sling around slightly, letting her hand drop to the concealed dagger in the folds of her robe. "Of course I am," she replied, raising her eyebrows in a protestation of innocence.

Those rodent eyes just blinked.

"My employer told me to expect your arrival," he said. "And to give you this." He reached into the pocket of his jumpsuit. Aemelie shifted her weight into an aggressive stance, waiting to get the first strike. The range was too close for him to use a blaster, she thought, not without harming himself. She shifted her son's sling to the back, shielding his body with her own.

But the object Mouseman withdrew was a small black datapad.

Aemelie's lips curled into a smile, and she took it from him one-handed, still keeping an eye out for any surprise.

"The datapad contains schematics of the _Aleema _and the _Leviathan. _Datamaps of the Rakatan weaponry -- as well as the Fleet's best research into their stardrives. _Our_ employer says that you should consider this a gift. Republic R&D has been able to make great strides...but _our_ employer thinks that what we need to crack this tech is some good old-fashioned _Mandalorian_ insight."

"Hm," Aemelie replied, voice non-committal. "This is a great gift." She hazarded a guess. "_Your_ employer owes us at least this much for the gift we gave him long ago."

"Some think it was a mutual favor," the tech replied. "I was also told to remind you, you _are _in his employ. Your leader...has commanded it, has she not?"

Aemelie began to wonder if she had strayed out of her depth. Gwenarius, or Catrinex in her prime surely would have been able to come up with a clever response. Her own specialty was simply starship engineering.

"Let's talk about the freighters," she extemporized. "I assume that our original request is also included in this bargain?"

"But of course."

"Our own centers of manufacture haven't been operational since the war. We will require the ships to be stocked with raw materials. Has your...employer arranged for a drop point, where our...ships' crews can take possession?"

"Peragus Station, on the Outer Rim. Your new...fleet of _freighters _are registered on the Coruscanti exchange as a limited liability corporation, nominally owned by a branch of Czerka Corp. The name is _Starfire Shipping & Explorations_. There are ten ships, seven of them are Class-C freighters, made right here in the Kuati shipyards before the war, and the other 3 are modified Durian AQ-R transports, Republic salvage. Is this acceptable?"

Pleased to be given something she could understand, Aemelie began running through statistics in her head: FTL travel times, coordinates, ship specifications and design. With what they had left, it was more than acceptable. With what they had left, it would serve quite well.

She stared out at the blackness of space, seen through the rent in the _Aleema's_ hull like a tear in the fabric of time. _Soon,_ she thought. _We will have stars once more. _The Core beckoned beyond, a beautiful swirl of light, waiting like a promise.

"Could that hole be repaired?" she asked. It didn't seem to matter that Mouseman knew her intentions. Like all barbarians he wouldn't have any real understanding.

The womp-rat coughed nervously. "They're going to make this hulk into a museum," he told her. "My employer regrets to inform you that including the _Aleema_ into the bargain is simply not possible. He told me to tell you, specifically, that such a thing would be too unbalancing. It would upset the game." His whiskers twitched. "I assume you understand?"

Aemelie smiled. "It's no matter. And yes, tell the D'Reev betrayer I – _we _– understand perfectly. As we did long ago." She shifted her son back into her arms, nuzzling his soft cheek.

"Soon little warrior," she whispered in his ear in the language of her people. "Now is the time. Time to call the men home."

_There is a season,_ the song her mother sang had sung to Aemelie snug in her cradle long ago on the plains of Mandalore. _And a time for every purpose under the heavens._

She hummed the melody softly under her breath. Her son burbled and smiled.

XXX

_Vrook Lamar_

"The tissue graft was successful, but you have to understand, Lamar, the original surgery reshaped her skull. The frontal and temporal plates' densities are well below the standard ratio. Any structural change would run the risk of further compromising cranial integrity. I've done all that I could do. Sheris will heal. But she'll wear that face until the day she dies."

Vrook Lamar sighed. "And her arm?"

Doctor Elora Tho turned away from him, back to the medical droid that had followed her from the surgery into the waiting room. Removing a soft cloth from her medical robes, she began cleaning the droid's appendages, methodic and focused.

"I've attached the new prosthesis. There's some motor damage to the ulnar nerve. I'm not sure if it will repair itself. There's – there's something else too. She –" He watched Elora's face struggle to find a way to tell him.

_Tell me what I already know. My niece was nothing if not thorough. _

"Genetically she's almost an identical copy of Revan Starfire. Forging the mitochrondrial signature enough to match a basic pattern is common enough – as any ident thief will tell you. But this was done down to sub-atomics – I've never seen anything like it."

_I have, in the wars. The creatures that Kun made from _Massassi_ tribesmen. War machines made flesh. The Force can do many things. Most of them terrible._

Strange how you could spend your entire life fighting for a cause, believing in it, and in the end be left with this feeling of – worse than futility. Failure. Bitterness.

Elora Tho was no stranger to bitterness herself. He could see it in every line in her face, the shadows under her eyes. It had been almost a Selkath year now, since Sunry's execution, but time had brought her no peace.

"Thank you, 'Lora," Vrook turned to the window and looked out. Gray sky and green sea, surrounding the science station that had been built since the kolto's devastation directly above the shattered reef beds. This isolated research platform a thousand kilometers from Ahto City was the safest place he could bring them.

_Seven people died because you were too slow, too cautious. And they died for nothing. Died for a secret that the whole world already knew by the time their ship crashed into a novaed sun._

There were the other deaths too. The ones on Deralia. Three lives. The true innocents. Vrook supposed he could lay those at D'Reev's feet as well. The Senator had denied it to the Council of course, but who else could have struck so quickly? Who else was in the position to have known?

_Revan._ _And my niece was nothing if not thorough. _

But that was something Vrook didn't want to believe.

"Sheris is heavily sedated. Her mind is damaged. The psych droid said her scores on the galactic Sabines-Ooxley and Eskay-Bindet tests are well within the delusional range." Sunry's wife didn't try and hide the accusation in her eyes. "I doubt her friend's murder helped."

"Given time, and peace, she'll find herself again."

"Like Nayama did?"

She'd caught him off guard. Blindsided into an asteroid field. What made it all the worse was that Vrook had always had his own doubts. "A new set of memories," he said quietly, repeating the party line like a protocol droid, "is not a new personality. It's only a kindness. And it was Nayama Bindo's choice."

"Jolee's wife killed people. Soldiers. Jedi. _Our_ friends, Lamar. Sunry was executed. _Sunry_ never had a choice."

"We could not interfere with the Selkath –" Even as he began Vrook stopped, realizing the hypocrisy of that statement. They _had_ interfered. The Selkath ten had been held in a mockery of the local judicial system. Held on reserve and then discarded.

_And now there are the Selkath three. The Selkath three and one tired old man. I'm tired of the greater good. I'm tired of the little deaths, the minor sacrifices made by the ignorant and the innocent. The hapless bystanders who made the wrong choice, or were just at the wrong place at the wrong time..._

Vrook took a deep breath. This kind of moral quagmire was not going to be solved in a few hours of meditation. It would gnaw at him until the end of his days.

"Physically, Sheris is fine," Elora said, staring at the waves. "Davad and Yuthura are with her now."

"I'll go to them, then."

Elora shrugged and went back to cleaning her medical droid's surgical arms.

Davad Arkan looked up as Vrook came into the medlab, eyes flat and distant. Sheris was a mass of blankets and bacta pads, the machines behind her softly chiming in time with her pulse. For a moment, the scene reminded Vrook of another hospital bed, on the _Ascendant. _They'd sent him a holotape when Revan was captured. Allowed him to bear witness to what he could not stop.

The face, pale under the green gel of bacta, was the same face. This did not help.

_Could you have killed them, Revan? Was it your order that sent a family of innocents to their death? _Vrook did not want to believe. _Faith in you is all I have left. Faith that your tears were no lie. Faith that your denial at Atris' blunt accusation was no charade. Faith that returning the rest of your memories will undo the damage we have done. Faith in you, Revan. Faith that you are more your mother's daughter than my brother's..._

Long ago, Radik Starfire had followed Exar Kun. But there is more than one path to salvation, and in his wife's quiet life of science, Vrook had hoped his brother had found some peace, some happiness, before their end. Their deaths had truly been accidental – Vrook's investigations of that led him to discover their child, the daughter Radik had never bothered to tell him existed...

_Accident or will of the Force?_

_By the time I tracked her down, she was already lost._

Yuthura Ban turned from the window. She folded her arms and raised her chin. The uneasy alliance that had been forged between them had crumbled during her imprisonment and Vrook's inability to assist in any real fashion. What lay behind her expression now was not quite dislike, but it seemed near to disgust.

_Useless_, those violet eyes raked him. _We trusted you and you gave us nothing. _

"We've already booked passage on a passenger cruiser, _The_ _Starlite Express_, leaving in two days time for Coruscant." Her words left no room for argument.

"You can't--" Vrook began anyway, but she cut him off with an abrupt wave of her hand.

"We can do whatever we like, _Master_." The title was delivered mockingly. "Perhaps our nameless enemies will think twice about sending a ship full of innocents to their deaths. Or, perhaps, they no longer care. Either way, you can't push us into the background as if we didn't exist. Not anymore."

"I'll come with you," Vrook said. It wasn't what he'd planned on saying. But as the words came out he realized that it was what he had to do.

Yuthura laughed. "And your work with the kolto?"

"No one can heal what was done," Vook said, emptily, knowing the truth of the words, even as the admission of yet another failure cut him to the bone. "Our duty is to what remains. I'll come."

Davad Arkan said nothing. His hand slipped over Sheris' unconscious one protective, as if of its own volition.

XXX

Zaalbar

Zaalbar shifted the bowcaster to his other shoulder, resisting the urge to scratch the itch that the black and red sash he'd been given to wear was causing. It cut awkwardly across his chest, just as awkward as this _reception,_ and his own place in it. Next to him the Mission-ghost beeped a stream of rude commentary and advice regarding the other guests. From what he understood, this was a treaty of some kind being forged between Polla-Revan's family and the Racharn tribe. His own role was simple enough: keep the D'Reev elder alive.

On the other side of the Senator, Canderous looked similarly out of place. Behind them stood more of the Mandalorian kin. His friend's wife and daughter-cub, and the boy, Mekel Jin, as well as of few of the half-grown cubs that Zaalbar hadn't learned by name. All were clad entirely in suits of Mandalorian battle armor, and all wore the black and red sashes that marked them as D'Reev as surely as any slaver's collar.

Zaalbar was trying hard to understand. _"I'll follow you," _he had said to a human female in a Taris sewer, and those words meant more than any tie to family or race. It was, he thought sadly, a great weakness of his people, that their honor could lead them to subjugation. His life-debt had led him home again, had led to his people's liberation from Czerka, but it had also led to Mission-daughter's death, and a strange new world, in which Kashyyyk stood poised for a destiny he still had trouble understanding. The messages from Freyyr that the Mission-ghost communicated to him were disturbing. So too was being put in this place, where his life debt extended to an infidel with ties to the hated _Czerka_.

Malachi D'Reev was one of its main investors, the Mission-ghost had said.

In a way, Polla-Revan's quest for her son had sold his people back to the same slavers she had freed them from. The black and red sash marked them all as _hers, _and therefore _his._

Zaalbar groaned, the noise hissing through his teeth like a whine.

Abruptly, the Mission-ghost beeped, interrupting her steady stream of useless commentary about Coruscanti politics. "Kinrath poodoo! I've lost connection to the main core!" Her distress interrupted his thoughts. "Linking to back-up on the _Ghost _now. Someone's trying to give orders to my central processors! What the frack?"

"Was it Polla-Revan Organa?" Zaalbar growled back in the archaic Shryiiwook they used between themselves. Letting Polla-Revan go to the Jedi without more protection than Carth and the Dustil-cub still rested uneasily. The twinge in his side from the Sith blade still ached, more than a week later. Again, he regretted his vow of secrecy to the Mission-ghost. Polla-Revan was hunted. And she had the right to know all that considered her prey.

"No, Polla-Revan she doesn't have that kind of access," Mission growled back. "It was..." Her voice broke off suddenly. "Error: that information is not available."

"That's weird," she added. "Trying a reroute now..."

Zaalbar groaned at her and turned his attention back to the task at hand. The Racharn matriarch approached them, flanked by her surviving offspring. Two of them. There had been another one, he'd been told, the eldest cub, who had recently met with an unfortunate accident. Although different ages, they all looked even more alike than most human females. Down to the smell. The unnaturalness of that made him even more uneasy.

"Leeshantina," the D'Reev slaver murmured. "How fortunate we could come to this accord."

"I accept your concessions, Malachi," the elder female replied. "Although they only scratch the surface...but I suppose full reparations would bankrupt you, and we can't have that, can we?"

"The resultant economic collapse of several star systems _would_ be bad for the Republic," Malachi D'Reev replied.

The Racharn's eyes shifted to Zaalbar and the Mandalorians, and then looked past. "I thought _she'd_ be here as well. In fact, I believe I specifically included that in the terms..."

"Unfortunately, the Jedi Council denied my request. My daughter-in-law and my grandson are cloistered in the Temple." Malachi D'Reev shrugged.

"Rather convenient for you, isn't that? Putting them out of harm's way? House D'Reev and their Jedi pets. You can only hide behind their robes for so long, Mal."

"Bitterness does not become you, 'Shanti. You've won. I've forgiven the lien and the additional recompense has already been transferred to your corporate accounts. Racharn has full control over the Teeta, Systari and Hoth systems. As well as Echanis. Be civilized, you come out of this ahead."

The woman was angry, it radiated off of her like a bad smell. "I've lost a daughter. Your droid was very clever with those mines."

"You should never risk what you fear to lose."

"I demand an additional provision...insurance."

"If your request is reasonable...D'Reev will comply."

"An alliance sealed by marriage. Between your Third and mine." Next to her, the smaller Racharn cub looked up.

"Does this mean I get to see Korrie?" the little one asked.

"Once Malachi manages to get him back from the Jedi, Leeshy-dear," her mother replied. She chuckled. "I expect you'll have to wait a few years."

"I remember you wanted a similar alliance, long ago, 'Shanti." The old man gave off a sad smell, but Zaalbar felt no pity for him. _I will follow you,_ he had said to a human female in a Taris sewer, sensing that she was strong enough to protect Mission. Wise enough to navigate the duracrete jungle, where his own skills put both of them too often in harm's way. _I will follow you,_ he had said. And that trail had led to Mission-daughter's death.

Zaalbar couldn't help the moan the escaped from his lips. One of the armored Mandalorians nudged him sharply in the ribs.

"Shut the Wookiee up!" another one hissed.

"It'll be okay, Big Z," the Mission-ghost groaned softly. In front of them, the two _Senators_ continued their negotiations. "This is what Senators do."

"If your son had married my Leeta, perhaps he'd still be alive."

"Or House Makeon would have overrun us both." D'Reev folded hands gnarled like dead branches and nodded his head. "Our numbers are few. Fewer than the other Houses, and the lower nobles are . . . overeager to advance. If Racharn or D'Reev falls, one or both of our seats will be filled by less skilled hands. The Republic will suffer. I will accept Racharn's suit on behalf of Malachor. When they come of age, they'll wed. But we will need to negotiate succession... I will not have D'Reev pass to clones."

"Racharn will continue as it always has," the matriarch replied. "With Leesa. If you want Leeshy to _bear_ Malachor's children like some kind of animal that is your concern."

The wife of Canderous Ordo coughed. The noise came out as a loud interruption, amplified through her helm. For a moment, the D'Reev slaver's head turned towards them, a puzzled frown on his face. His rock-colored eyes looked right through them, as if Zaalbar and the Mandalorians were nothing more than wind in the trees.

To him they were nothing more. They were slaves. Zaalbar realized this, even if the Mandalorians pretended otherwise, acted as if their accommodations in the _hotel_ were a convenience, instead of an insult. As if their role as indentured bodyguards for D'Reev was an honor, instead of obligated servitude.

Gwenarius Ordo spoke, even as the _Senator's_ head was turning away, interrupting like a barreling herd of kwaan.

"Although it is unseemly to negotiate troths before the children have survived to adulthood, Ordo will accept a Racharn alliance – as long as a woman of the clans is allowed to choose Malachor as First Wife. Racharn would be Second, of course." Her helmet nodded briskly, and she tapped the twin vibroblades at her waist. "Really, our customs are not so different."

"_Gwenarius!" _Canderous Ordo gave off that angry smell, that Zaalbar had come to learn meant bloodshed was near. The Wookiee whined again, and this time the Mission-ghost did not stop him.

Both Coruscanti elders turned back to their conversation as if nothing had happened.

Mission made a beeping noise. "Poo doo frack! I can't access the core...must be...sun spots. Error: central command is offline. Banthaspit!"

Her growling sounded distressed. Zaalbar put a gentling hand on her dome. It was all he could do.

_I will follow you,_ he had said. Behind them the dead had turned to dust and blown away with the wind. _I will follow you. _And it had led to this. But follow he would.

The life-debt left him no choice.

XXX

_Lena Wee_

"You're insane."

Nico laughed, twirling around in the large chair he'd installed next to the enormous computer console. They were in their new offices, built in the blast center of Malak's crater. He'd been in here all day and half the fracking night. Lena had brought him food. The remnants of her fraying patience were about to snap off like a trick halter top on a joygirl's stage.

"The galaxy is lost without a source of healing isn't it? No price would be too great to pay? We'll be rich, Lena...which should make you happy. And we'll have power...which I can use."

Lena Wee tried to think of a way to point out the obvious and failed. _Right, Nico. The best scientists in the galaxy, the power of the Jedi, and all the cash the Republic can throw at the problem can't fix Manaan's oceans and make the kolto grow again...but somehow _you're_ going to manage it._

Oblivious, her lover stared at the rows of blinking databanks in front of him, occasionally pausing to type something into one of the five terminal screens that ringed his workstation. "I think I can get Tatooine back online," he murmured. "But for some reason Kashyyyk is being obstinate..."

He frowned at one of the screens.

"We're overextended," Lena tried to get his attention back on her. "You can't build this type of installation this quickly and not go into debt. Suvam Tan is calling one of our notes. We need to come up with the capital to --"

"You look so alluring when you talk about capital," Nico murmured.

It might have meant more had he been actually looking _at_ her and not the damn screen.

Lena's lekku whipped around her neck with agitation. "You realize that the Exchange take debt very seriously, Nico? They're not going to ask nicely and then go away. They'll take all of this, and if we're lucky, we'll both be able to crawl away on broken legs. But I doubt that. More like, if we're lucky they'll just send a merc team to shoot us dead. Don't you _get_ that?"

"Oh Lena..." Nico turned his chair around and looked at her. "Come here, _echrjsjak._ I think it's time for you to understand." He smiled. "The Exchange works for _us,_ _bakoo_."

"Oh, I understand perfectly! Your head's in the fracking clouds, Nico Senvi! I.E., Limited is like a bad sidedeck! We can't sustain these kind of expenditures, we don't have any fracking real assets, and you're talking like --"

She stopped abruptly. _Remember what happened to Motta. Don't be a fool, Lena Wee. Look pretty, run the numbers, and come up with new tricks in bed. That's your job._

His back was to her again, fixated on those damn screens. Speakers crackled and a stream of garbled noises came out of them. Nico answered them, voice authoritative in the same gibberish.

_And don't you ever wonder what language that is, Lena? Or are you afraid to wonder? Are you more afraid that Nico's just insane...or...that he's something you don't want to understand? Something... more than some swoop racing kid. Something or someone – else..._

"There should be no secrets between us. Among my people, carrying the heir to an Empire is a great honor. I'll make you my queen in whatever formal traditions you'd expect. Rylothan matrimonial vows, if you prefer. With all seven of the dances. Twi'leki culture is fascinating. For a slave race, they are quite cultured. I've grown to admire their aesthetics a great deal." Nico spoke in Basic, hands still moving over the terminals as if with a life of their own.

Her mind stopped and froze. _Carrying the...heir?_ The flat statement shocked Lena so badly that her mind skipped over his crack about Twi'leks and slavery completely.

_Do the math, Citizen Wee, _her inner voice mocked. _Add up the numbers..._

She did and realized that he could be right.

Lena's hand curled over her abdomen.

Nico tapped something on one of the terminals, and the gibberish it was spouting shifted into Twi'leki.

"_This installation awaits your command, Builder."_

"Humor me, and give status updates in this tongue. This female Twi'lek beside me will be my queen. It is time...for her to understand."

"_Dantooine acknowledges, Master. This installation is fully operational and ready for your command."_

_"Manaan acknowledges, Master. This installation is fully operational and ready for your command."_

_"Korriban acknowledges, Master. This installation is fully operational and ready for your command."_

"Korriban, check status of Tatooine." Nico tilted his head at her, and beckoned. "Now," he said softly. "Do you being to see, Lena Wee?"

_"Tatooine is offline. Power reserves have been damaged. Further repairs must take place to restore core functionality."_

Nico sighed. "Begin making preparations for the repairs. I'm linking a simple slave processor I set up on the Tatooine site to your central cortex now. I'll need all four of you to concentrate your efforts to that task for functionality to be restored..." He shook his head, counting off his fingers, frowning. "Dantooine, Manaan, Korriban... that's –"

"Three," whispered Lena.

Nico gave her an embarrassed smile. "I'd be lost without you, starlight. Dantooine, Manaan, Korriban -- four of you -- Kashyyyk, acknowledge."

Sudden silence in the room, punctuated by the sound of Lena's suddenly racing pulse, loud as a drum in her own ears. _Not the Star Maps, Lena. But something else at the Star Maps... you thought he was just a fan, but somehow... somehow he –_

_-- And if he has that kind of power, that kind of power than he's not a joke, this isn't a joke, he's really serious. This is – if he can do what he says he can do then –_

The possibilities were completely endless.

"Kashyyyk, acknowledge."

One of the terminals made a noise that sounded rude. Nico sighed and looked at Lena again.

"Come here, my love," he said. "Sit on my lap and watch the power of the Builders awake to serve its creator once more."

His words were strangely compelling. Although half of her brain thought running for the Dantooine hills would be the better part of valor, Lena crossed the floor and came to him, settled on his lap. His moved to her stomach, covering her own.

"There's corruption, of course," he mused, reaching his arms around her to continue typing at the terminal. "Some data degrade is foreseeable after so much time has passed...even my own mind has changed after so many cycles of so many worlds...but the others were dormant... until I spoke to them. Kashyyyk appears to be already awake...I may have to wipe the central core --"

"I may have to wipe _you _off the face of the galaxy, you nerfherding poodoo brain!" the terminal snapped back. "Who the frack is this and what are you doing? I am the, uh, property of Revan Starfire D'Reev Lin Ord--"

"This is very odd," Nico mused, cutting off the sound with the press of a button. "Could Revan have revived its sentience when she and Malak accessed the navigational keys?"

"Who are you, really?" Lena whispered. He'd said no secrets. The computer's voice sounded like a girl's with a Tarisian accent, sounded almost familiar -- but at this point nothing surprised her. Lena was in a place beyond surprise. Beyond shock. It was all she could do to just _be._

Nico paused in his work, nestling his chin into the fold at the back of her skull. Lena shivered. _Not Nico. But you've always known that. Not Nico... _His lekku curled around her neck, the tips of them overlapping hers. The physical sensation made her gasp, and he chuckled.

"It was so long ago that I have a hard time remembering myself. I was a prince among my people. I started a revolution. And lost. As with all losing sides, I was punished. You know, destiny is a cosmic joke. I feel a certain kinship with Revan, even if her bumbling seems to have upset our plans...but, indeed, without Revan, there would be no me, perhaps, and therefore no plan." He chuckled. "Motta told me the order for my prison to be delivered to Tatooine came from high in the Sith hierarchy. As a cog, he never knew how high. I wonder if _she_ herself had plans for me, once, before the Jedi stripped her mind..."

"Your people are --"

_You knew he wasn't Nico. You _always_ knew that, Lena. Don't act surprised. Nico never would have looked at you twice. Nico was a boy. This man is..._

Her lover turned her head to face his, looked deep into her eyes. "A part of you knows already. A part of you always knew I was not Senvi. And that part...welcomes the opportunities our alliance will bring. You always know what side of the odds to stand on, Lena Wee. It's one of the things I love about you."

"W-what happened to the real Nico Senvi?" Lena's voice was annoyingly squeaky. She wished her she could make it sultry again.

"Gone." The Twi'lek who was not Nico Senvi shrugged. "We played a game of riddles, he and I. And he lost." He cocked his head at her. "Does it really matter so much to you, Lena? I'm the man you fell in love with."

She swallowed. "No, I guess it doesn't."

One of the terminal screens went suddenly black. Nico swore and tapped it. "Kashyyyk's completely offline. I hope we don't have to go there to make repairs... I'm not that fond of trees."

"I –" words failed Lena. She leaned back, letting his lekku stroke her face and neck, feeling the warm flush that had nothing to do with common sense melt her spine. "Do you have a name? Is there something I should call you? Besides Nico?"

"A name...I had one once." His voice was dreamy. "But what it was I can't remember and you could never pronounce. I'm _your_ Nico, my Lena. Yours and the galaxy's."

There was something else. Minor really, just one little detail. Like a row of expenditures on a balance sheet that she needed to total correctly so she could put it away.

"What does...I.E. Limited really stand for?"

Her lover chuckled. "Infinite Empire. Limited. For all things must be limited. All things must begin before they end. And all things must end...but within these fragile shells can we see that ending or do we only perceive the infinite? Infinite Empire is an oxymoron, a riddle, a cosmic joke. The universe is a system of your debits and credits, is it not? One thing and then the other?"

"It's more than that," she murmured, struggling to understand. "Some things you can't quantify..."

"Exactly."

Lena shifted against him, turning to meet his face. His orange eyes were ancient. His lips were insistent. And then there was no more conversation for quite some time.

XXX

_Millifar Ordo_

The Coruscanti barbarians could do this sort of thing for hours. Days. Weeks. Years. Millifar shifted uncomfortably, joints of her armor creaking. Now that the dance between clan D'Reev and Racharn was done, (although the insult of ignoring her mother's reasonable request would have to be dealt with at some point, Milli thought), there was an endless line of self-important pampered maffasops who had to be impressed by D'Reev strength, backed by the Mandalorian fist.

The holocam crew that followed them around like drajak drawn to a battlefield began to set up their equipment for the next big show.

Millifar Ordo watched the barbarians line up like little maffa-chicks, and played a game with herself, imagining each as their representative world. Here was core Byss, bowing and scraping, as they would someday under the Mandalorian heel. And here was mid-rim Archon. Corulag. Tenaris. Corellia. Alderaan –

Some instinct made her snap back to attention. Maybe it was the way the man approaching moved. Less of a grovel than a slow advance. Or maybe it was that hand, hidden by a long tapered sleeve. The face was perfectly painted-up like a whore's, and perfectly empty. Too empty. Whoever he was, the Alderaanian had chosen the manner of his death already. And then she realized she'd seen him before.

"Jin," she whispered, through the subvocal commlink installed in her helmet. "What does your Force-magic tell you about that man?"

Next to her, the Lin-slave was already on the alert.

"He's going to try something," the boy answered. "I can stop it, but be ready." His hand moved to his side, where the Jedi weapon he insisted on using instead of a normal blade hung.

"That's the one," her father's voice rumbled over the general band. "We've already been alerted. Stand ready. Mekel, take the point."

Nice of him to wait and tell them _now..._ Oh well, it made it more exciting.

In the past week they'd foiled seven assassination attempts on the old man's life. Kex had made his first blood on one of them. Millifar would be blooded twice in sand herself, if women counted things like men did. Although he'd said nothing, she thought her father was proud.

Millifar had to admit Mekel Jin was handy to have around, even if he lacked Oerin Lin's strange magnetism. Lin was far too arrogant for his own good. Whatever wife chose to take on the true Mandalore was going to have the flat of her blades busy for the rest of her life. Millifar still hadn't decided if she really wanted that annoyance.

"Senator –" the Secretary to Alderaan began, as if a formal address was still necessary even with what he had planned. Then he moved to strike.

But Jin moved first.

The knife flew out of the would-be assassin's hand and clattered on the floor. There was a snapping sound, finger bones breaking, and beside her, Mekel twisted his fist and then opened it again.

The Force was certainly a useful thing. Pity it seemed to lead to fits and fainting spells for Mekel Jin. Millifar resolved to have him scanned and see if that was an inheritable genetic defect.

The man collapsed on the floor without a shot being fired, clutching his hand.

Malachi D'Reev had taken one preventative step backwards. He hadn't even bothered to activate his personal shields. He was cool as ice, that one. Secretly, Millifar admired him, although for some reason her father seemed to hate his guts.

She moved with the others, briskly to flank the attempted assassin. The Wookiee already held a blade at the man's throat, as her father lifted the Alderaanian to his feet.

"Citizen Organa," Malachi D'Reev said, voice cool. "I sympathize. I will not press charges. You must believe me, I had nothing to do with your niece's death."

Her father was jabbing a stim into the man's neck to keep him from going into shock while Kex attached the restraints. Wanting to be helpful, Millifar picked up the knife and tried to hand it to him. Canderous waved her away, and she scowled under her helm.

"Nice work, Mekel," Canderous said through the comm. "Much more precise than the last one."

"Thanks," the Jedi slave replied.

The holocams flashed. Millifar instinctively straightened for them, snapping the knife onto the magnetized strip on her hip.

Apparently, this was another dewback and maffa show. There had already been several. Millifar adjusted the coolant flow on her armor. The hololights made their suits overheat, if one wasn't careful.

"Corellian investigators have already ruled the deaths were accidental. Citizen Organa, you must believe me, your grief is my own. _I _wished no harm upon that poor girl or her family. Indeed, I didn't know she existed..."

"You killed Beya, too!" the man spat. He looked absurd, painted up like that. Alderaanians were strange. Millifar had met a few of them at this point. On the whole, she preferred the Coruscantis. They understood order.

"My daughter-in-law has led a...public life. Who knows what faction could have been responsible, if as you claim, it was no simple accident?" The D'Reev betrayer shrugged. "I am not a monster, Boon Organa..." he paused, and looked directly into one of the holocam receptors. "But did it occur to you, that it is _you_ who placed Polla Organa and her husband and child's lives in jeopardy in the first place? If you had not spoken... that day on the Senate floor..."

The Secretary to Alderaan's face collapsed like a cheap deflector shield. Millifar rolled her eyes.

On her right the T-3 droid beeped suddenly, a general distress code. Mekel Jin's head turned. "I'll check it out, Blue," he said over the general comm band. "You're right though, it's probably sunspots...the T-3's processors were fine yesterday when we replaced the secondary receptors..." He was always forgetting to switch commlink stations. Millifar had given up. Besides, it created amusing moments, like the time he'd tried to ask her father on a private commline what criteria Mandalorian women used to choose their mates...

In front of them the holoshow continued, but Millifar's attention wandered back to Mekel Jin. She tried to pinpoint what exactly it was that made him interesting. Was it the Force-magic, or those almost black eyes that were so much more exotic than standard Mandalorian blue? He was getting much better with that ridiculous particle blade of his. She imagined with a proper sword he could win his own place in the clans easily enough. And then...

Well, there was Oerin Lin to think about as well. But with Fett Revan as an example...

Millifar grinned. The computer was useful, and it seemed to owe Mekel Jin some kind of allegiance. Mother could hardly object in tying that kind of power more closely to Clan Ordo...

Jin's step faltered and he fell down. There was a heavy thunk as his armored form hit the marble floor, hard.

Millifar sighed and moved to get his helm off before he choked on his own tongue. She needed to know if the fits were genetic. A weak seed would be bad. And _that_ concern had to outweigh all of the other advantages.

"Dust—" Mekel's voice crackled over the comm and then degenerated into incoherent babble.

Briefly, the holocams and the spectators turned to watch, before settling back on the main event. The fits were nothing new. This was the tenth one this week.

_XXX_

_Revan_

Victory was supposed to be sweet, wasn't it?

But the world was a lot easier with only two people in it. Anything larger than that was more than she could handle.

_The news had come the morning after they'd arrived in the Jedi Temple, after a night of dreams where Bastila kept laughing at her and her glider hit the canyon wall over and over._

_Carth murmured in his sleep when she woke up screaming, used to it by now._

_He'd fallen asleep with his blasters on, she'd noticed with a chill._

_The Mandalorians had sent their possessions, but she had to remind Carth that Dustil might want some of his own things from their apartment. Both Onasi men had just looked at her strangely. The Jedi wouldn't let Malachor have anything from home. Personal belongings, they'd told her, have no place in the apprentice dormitories._

Not that her son slept in the dormitories, after that first night. Malachor had nightmares too.

Maybe prescient, that dream. Revan wondered what the real Polla had thought about, those last few seconds in the speeder with her husband and son on the way back from Auntie Mita's funeral.

Right before the speeder hit the canyon wall.

_There'd been nothing left to bury, said the reports from Deralia. Jasp and Molla Organa's faces, tear-stained in mourning on the vids._

_The rational part of her mind ran over the logic again and again_. If she's dead then I have an identity._ Coruscanti statutes were quite clear. If there was no one alive to contest her being Polla or Revan, then she was both, legally, at least._

_But who killed her?_

_It couldn't just have been an accident, no matter what the official reports said. Seiran was one of the best racers on the planet, and Polla no slouch herself. She didn't know which one of them had been driving. _

Revan felt like she should have known.

_Seeing Polla Organa's face on the newsvids had been like looking into a cracked mirror. She'd had a memory, suddenly, of seeing a stranger's reflection in the fresher and screaming..._

_Nurse Bastila gave her another injection, her hands were soothing. "Shhh, you've had another nightmare. It's just the head injury, Polla. You'll be fine."_

"_Dye her hair black," someone said, from a place outside the world. "Maybe that will help."_

_She screamed again..._

_Polla. Seiran. Their son. Dead. All my fault. More blood on my hands._

Seven of the Selkath ten were missing. Their ship had vanished. Vrook and Yuthura had both called her from Manaan. She'd refused to take the call. Carth talked to them. She didn't know what they'd said. Seven of the Selkath ten. Their names had never been important before. They'd been faceless Sith kneeling at her feet on Manaan. She'd hated them with an intensity that was terrifying. Now she recited their names in her sleep and begged their forgiveness.

_Armon Wu, Vikor Tio, Lukash Vair, Commander Gharen Jo, Nicosia Ree, Lyndel Sen and Beya Organa._

_Beya Organa._

"_I'm going to find Davad and 'Tina," the Deralian said, getting up from the table. "I'll leave you two alone...if I don't see you before you leave, good luck and may the Force guide you."_

"_May the Force keep us from getting sand in places there should be no sand," Revan said. "From what I've read about Mandalore, that will be the real test of our knighthood."_

_Malak pulled her more tightly onto his lap and she kissed him again. _

"_Good-bye Beya, Have fun..."_

_Seiran kissed her after school behind the eridu bush. She gave him a black eye. He just laughed at her._

"_Pollie put the kettle on, Pollie put the kettle on —"_

_Beya threatened to tell Ma and Da she'd snuck out. Sara offered her money not to tell but she wouldn't take it. "Try not to get so wrecked that you crash the scooter, kids," her cosmopolitan cousin said. _

_Good night Polla. Good night Sei. Good night Beya. Sleep tight. Don't let the --_

Revan couldn't sleep.

Korrie's blankets were half thrown off and she covered him back up. On the pallet near the door, Carth dozed, still sitting with his back against the wall. He was snoring. He always did.

"_I don't snore, beautiful," he'd said, after the first night they slept in each others arms. "But you talk in your sleep."_

"_What do I say?"_

"_I don't know. I don't have your gift for languages, Polla."_

_My gift..._

Had it been Revan or Polla who had learned to move soundless, like a ghost across the floor? Prick of angry tears in her eyes again at that thought, but her feet were steady and the door slid open, smoothly, then closed behind her. There was no danger to any of them here, but Carth still slept sentry-style, hands on his blasters guarding the door. Something was eating at him from the inside out, something new.

Dustil, she supposed. They didn't seem to be getting along.

_But it's none of my business._

And it was easier to think it was Dustil than to wonder if it was her.

_You won. You always win. You have Carth. You have Malachor. You have Dustil. _

_And as long as you stay within these walls, no one can take them away from you. Not here, not now. _

But the price had been too fracking high.

_I'm sorry, Polla Organa. I'm sorry, Beya._

Walking through the white halls felt like another dream. Pale overheads shone pale reflections of herself in beige Padawan robes, dark windows overlooked the inward-facing gardens. Her feet followed the halls, walking down corridors she had no conscious memories of visiting; yet every step familiar. The tune of a song she'd forgotten the name to, map of a place she'd never been.

Stairs, stone worn down in the middle from a thousand Jedi, a thousand years of Jedi descending. She didn't know where she was going until she got there. Industrial duracrete walls, a faint locker room smell, oddly pedestrian beneath the heart of the Jedi Temple.

_Clash of sabers and bright laughter. "I'll get you next time, Beya!"_

_I got you good, Beya. Or someone did. Someone did it for me._

The price was too fracking high.

_Polla. Seiran Wen. Beya Organa. The baby. Barely a month old, Polla's son. He hadn't even had a name yet._

The double doors in front of her led to the main training room. Somehow, Revan _knew _that without remembering it. It just was. She walked past them, turning off to one of the smaller ones, designed for Master and Padawan. Or two Padawans. Single combat. Pure saber forms. Chen-sai, no'ha.

There'd been rooms like this on Dantooine. This was familiar.

"_It's an art," Master Zhar told Polla, watching her shift from stance to stance against Bastila. Their yellow blades met in a shower of sparks, and they twisted. Hard to fight Bastila, it was like watching a mirror. Each movement a counterbalance, perfect harmony. "A Jedi's lightsaber is for defense, protection. And so, this training is an exercise in peace. Feel the Force. Do not be afraid."_

"_Do not fear it," echoed Master Vandar to a smaller Revan. She concentrated on making the stones spin evenly._

"_Let the Force guide you. There is no danger here," _one of them said. To one of her.

Revan opened a door off a row of doors. The third in a long line. The room was small and circular.

And not empty.

A battered practice droid circled a blindfolded Dustil Onasi. Its one appendage ended in a blue incandescent beam, twin to the one in Carth son's hand. He held it two-handed, she noted, watching as he raised both hands above his head to counter the droid's parry. He moved gracefully and oddly beautiful, lines of his thin shoulders in perfect synch under the thin robe, every angle in perfect alignment.

_Shai'cho. N'ha, Eskai._

He was, she realized, not only controlling his own movements, but also those of the practice droid. The Force surged around him like a tide.

His lips were set in a thin white line.

_Dark here. It's dark. Not supposed to be dark. No fear, no anger, peace. Balance._

His blue blade slipped and he cut off the practice droid's arm. Its artificial saber hissed out like an extinguished flame.

The droid fell to the floor in a shower of sparking conduits. Broken. Dustil's saber snapped off with a sharp click and he pushed the blindfold off his eyes.

And looked horrified to see her.

Revan's heart sank. Dustil spoke to Carth, some. He was very close to Korrie. But he'd never said more than two words to her in the week they'd been in this place. His mouth opened and closed. He paled, or perhaps he was always this pale. Or maybe it was the light, hard and grey above them.

_Or maybe you don't want to accept that Carth Onasi's son is falling back to the dark side because of you._

The taint was unmistakable. She'd seen the Jedi in the Temple step aside when he walked by them. Heard their whispers. Felt their concern. She wanted it to be _their_ problem, not hers.

But of course, it was her fault.

"Sorry," Revan ventured. "I didn't know anyone was here."

"You were hiding with the Force. I didn't hear you come in." The words sounded like an accusation.

"I couldn't sleep," Revan answered.

Dustil turned away from her. "Any reason," his voice tight and strange, "that you picked _this _practice room in particular?"

"I didn't know what was down here, I just walked..." her voice trailed off.

"It's just a room, there are others," he muttered under his breath.

Maybe this was why she had come. Maybe Carth's son's hatred of her was something she could deal with. Solve. Fix.

"Dustil," Revan began, "we need to talk."

The back of his head jerked. "No," he said. "We really don't." He paused for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. "Unless you want to talk about getting the frell out of here, taking your son and getting out of here. You and Korrie and – and Father."

The word 'father' hung awkward in the air as if he'd forgotten what it meant, those years on Korriban.

"Mission," Revan whispered. _Mission. Juhani. Jolee. Bastila. Beya Organa. Polla – _"I'm so sorry that I –"

_Fell. So sorry. So very sorry. Let me close my eyes and take it all back and maybe being Revan will be less painful than this. Than living with their blood on my hands. My friends. Myself. My fault._

_Revan has a son. That's all that matters, that's all –_

"No," Dustil said. He jerked his head around, the overhead light turning his eyes into black pools, too old for his young face. "Being Revan won't be less painful. It will be more." He laughed suddenly and unreasonably, the sound was ugly in the small room. "You rip yourself apart over the lives of a few dead friends? What do you think being _Darth Revan_ must have been like?"

"I made choices," Revan answered. "I should live with them." She took a deep breath, trying for composure. "Mission," she repeated firmly, playing out the conversation she'd had with Carth Onasi's son a thousand times in her head. "I know the computer isn't her exactly, Dustil, but it was the best I could do."

He just looked at her, uncomprehending. "The best you could do," he repeated, voice uncertain.

"Mekel told me you were upset, the day after you met him. And so did she." _Back when I was speaking to Mission. _Since Polla's death, the comm headset that Revan had used to communicate with her computer had sat deactivated in a drawer in her rooms. _Did you kill her for me, Mission? Or did Malachi do it himself?_

Revan didn't want to know.

She took a deep breath. "Look, I _know_ it's not Mission, but I wanted to give her something. I couldn't give her life back -- but the computer – sometimes I don't know why I did it, but when we were on Kashyyyk – I-I thought..."

"Kashyyyk," he repeated. His dark brows drew together and he exhaled, slowly. His hands were white-knuckled fists at his side, one of them clutching his saber in a death grip. "You were on Kashyyyk. Y-you went back there..."

"After the Star Forge, it's where Zal and Carth and Canderous took—"

"You went back to Kashyyyk." He closed his eyes and tilted his head up, lights tracing his profile in shadow. Dustil took a deep breath. "What exactly did you do, Re-Revan?"

The stutter was not like his father's stutter at all. Something tugged at her. A song she'd forgotten the lyrics to. A bad nightmare that you only remember feeling, not memory.

Revan frowned. "Mekel said you knew. I thought –"

"I want to see Mekel Jin," Dustil said. "Get him away from the Mandalorians. Kashyyyk." His voice hardened, vowels shifting, becoming cold and clipped. "Computer. You said computer. Kashyyyk. Computer. Mission. What did you _do?"_

_Dark. It's dark here. Dangerous. _

"Mission picked my pocket on Korriban. She recorded over a holocron that we..." _that I killed Lashowe Devry for. Lashowe was such a blind proud little fool. _

"A holocron on Korriban. A Sith holocron?"

"I guess, from one of the tombs."

"What computer, Revan?"

She frowned at him. This was not how she'd imagined the conversation going at all.

"Just a computer," she answered, evasive. "I'm sorry, Dustil. I know you cared for her...I know you –"

"Just a computer on Kashyyyk."

His response was inexplicable. Her mind worried at it, like a kath with a bone.

Revan shrugged. "Just a computer." _What Mission is now, is none of your business, Dustil, except that you cared for her once._

"I cared for her once," he repeated as if he was picking the thoughts from her head.

Revan felt an uneasy chill and slammed the Force down shut. Dustil flinched.

"Dustil," she began again, "your father and I –"

"Need to get out of here." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "No Mandalorians, no computers. No Jedi. No Sith. If you – if you love Carth Onasi and want Malachor to be safe – just leave, Revan. Go. Go now." He paused. "You ... what are you doing with Arca Trinii? How does _she_ fit into this plan?"

"Arca Trinii?"

The name meant nothing.

"Arca," he repeated. "I—I don't know much but --." His voice was uncertain. "She's calling herself a _Sith Lord_. . . You don't get it, do you? Mandalorians, Kashyyyk computer, Sith Lords..." His laughter was confusing, dark. Ugly. "Just because you've changed, do you think it will be different _this_ time?"

"I don't have anything to do with the Sith now, Dustil." Revan was trying to understand but it felt like there was a barrier of duracrete between them.

_I did send the remnants of their fleet to the Malachor system, but out that far, what harm could they do?_

"I—I need—" her voice faltered. It was strange confessing this to Carth's son. She hadn't even told Carth, although she thought he knew. He must know. He knew her so well. Better than she knew herself. _That's why he's so distant now, _she thought, swallowing hard. _He's giving me time to deal with what I've done. Time..._

"_The Force is a gift, Padawan." Atris said, voice cold, that hard dislike still there like a bitter place in a thisla fruit. "Not to yourself, but to the galaxy. The self is inconsequential by comparison. Identity is a shell. Meaningless."_

"_We did not give you a choice before." Kavar told her. She couldn't read his expression. "You should have one now."_

_Jopheena's voice was distant. "If being Revan is too much for you – we will give you another option. There is no shame in that, Padawan."_

"_A more suitable one," added the scarred Veltron. His eyes were steady and calm. At peace with himself. The Force around him was a clear still pool of water. She recognized his face from children's stories. But the man himself was someone else now._

_She envied him._

_Revan swallowed, asking the question she didn't want to know, that she already knew. "And my son?"_

"_We do not ignore familial bonds," her Uncle's holographic representation told her, voice steady. "But, as Revan understood once, Jedi cannot weigh such things over the fate of all sentients. For the greater good, there must be some measure of – detachment."_

_That she ignored. Vrook wasn't detached either, she knew that. It was just something he had to say._

"_You should meditate on the decision, Revan," Iridel had said._

And so she had been. For a Coruscanti week.

"Malachor is my son," she told Dustil. "I – want to remember that. I should have to live with what I did. The galaxy has to live with it. I –"

_I killed his father and I didn't even know what I –_

"You did what you had to do. What was necessary." He swallowed. "All of it. I forgive you."

"For Mission. And Telos." Revan shook her head. "Dustil, I'm not sure that some things are forgivable. "

He winced. "Why did you kill her?" he asked, voice oddly flat. "The Twi—Mission Vao. Why did you kill her?"

Revan's voice faltered. But if anyone, Carth's son had the right to know. "Because she was in my way. S-she said there was still some good in me and she wasn't going to accept that I – she wasn't going to follow me –she just stood there. And Zaalbar cut her down. Because I made him do it. I – I made—"

"Stop it." His hands were shaking. Dustil sat down abruptly on the floor and took a deep breath. He crossed his legs, folding them in a gesture reminiscent of the first meditation exercise she remembered learning back on Dantooine. "Why?" he repeated. The word wasn't the accusation she'd expected. The way he said it, it sounded like a rhetorical question.

"Because I had to stop Malak. Darth Malak. And she was in my way." Her response came out flat, almost automatic. _She was in my way, just like Jolee and Juhani. Just like Polla and Seiran and Beya. Polla had a son, she had a son and even if I didn't do it, I am responsible, this is my fault. She was in the way. Her death serves me. Even if I didn't give the order, even if I didn't know --_

"Did you want to be Dark Lord of the Sith again?" He wouldn't look at her. He was looking at the floor.

"No, I wanted to stop Malak."

His head nodded, slightly. "When I—when I studied Sith history I—" his voice broke off again. "When I – read about the Mandalorian wars I used to think the Jedi Council were fools for doing nothing. The Fett was a monster. A threat to the galaxy. A-and sometimes the only way to stop a monster is to become a bigger one."

Dustil paused. "You did stop Malak."

There was something wrong with all of this. Dislocated. Almost like a dream. The boy on Korriban had seemed simple. Angry at his father. Loyal to the Sith, and then outraged when Carth uncovered the lie. Young. Emotional. Innocent, somehow, even after all that a Sith Academy could throw at him. This Dustil was -- changed. Could eight months on Coruscant make such a change? What had happened to him that could make such a change --

_Dark here, it's dark, dangerous._

"Your saber technique's really good," Revan said, struggling to think of something to say. "You've improved a great deal since –"

_Since you tried to kill your father on Korriban._

He looked startled. "I practice." His eyes went to the one dangling from her belt. "You should. For your son. To keep him safe."

"I practice." Revan snapped back.

"With a vibroblade, or practice swords. I-I've seen you." He looked ashamed, as if the admission that he'd been watching her was painful. Revan hadn't known. She only practiced by herself, in the garden off the rooms they'd given her with an old blade Canderous had sent over. "It's an entirely different thing. The balance, the weight...you – can't keep the same reflexes with a cortosis blade."

"Thanks for the advice," she said, voice dry. _It's none of your fracking business._

"You can't stay here," he repeated.

"The Jedi can help you, Dustil. Whatever it is, that's eating at you –" something was, like a cancer, like a canker, like a shadow. It was in his every move, the terrible pallor of his face. "They can help all of us, they've promised –"

"Mother?"

Revan had been so focused on Dustil she hadn't heard her son's approach. She turned around, Korrie was standing in the doorway, sleep-tousled, clutching his pillow as if it were a stuffed toy. He'd pulled a white apprentice robe over his pajamas, but his feet were still bare. He smiled at her, so open and innocent and good that it made her heart jump again.

"You should be asleep," she told him, opening her arms. Korrie snuggled into them, and she pulled him into a hug. The world was safe and good and warm again, suddenly. Easy enough, because it only had two people in it. The rest faded away.

"You're talking to each other," Korrie said. "That's good, right?" He wiggled in her arms half-turning them both to face Dustil again. "If it's like Mandalorians and Mother is one now, then why can't we all be one happy fa—"

"Malachor." Her son's full name came out of Dustil Onasi's mouth half-choked. Strangled. "We spoke about this_. No."_

Revan's skin prickled. There was almost a Force-compulsion in that 'no.' She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again.

_Dark. It's dark here. Dangerous._

Carth's son got up from the floor, edging around them as if they were contagious. "I've got to go."

"Don't use the Force on my son," she snapped at him.

He turned his head. "I would never hurt Malachor, Revan." His head jerked away again and he left, walking fast as if he was afraid they would follow.

Revan stared after Dustil's retreating back, frowning. Korrie tugged at her sleeve.

"Is this where you and Father used to practice together? Back when you were Jedi?"

"What?" Revan's attention snapped back, and she rumpled his hair, bending down to give her son a Hothan kiss. It made him giggle.

"This room. S-someone told me there was a room. They said..." Korrie wiggled out of her arms and ran to the curving walls, stepping over the shattered remnants of the practice droid. A small console was set into it, and her son tapped a few buttons, frowning in concentration, lips sounding out words. "There's recordings of Jedi practice sessions. For students to watch and learn. Father was one of the best and you were too and so they kept the recordings. S-someone told me maybe sometime I could see – I always wanted to see –"

A beam of light flickered and began to shuffle through: ghost-images of various pairs of Padawans sparring, ghost beams of blue and green and yellow sabers, cycling through an infinite pattern of lightsaber stances.

"There!"

The girl's hair was a red flame down her back, and the taller boy had a cap of brown curls. The two shifted and turned in a perfect balance. They fought, circling, blue saber clashing with yellow. Chills prickled Revan's spine.

"Who told you?" Revan watched her ghost-image dance with a man she'd killed. A man she'd shattered. The lump in her throat wouldn't go away. "One of the Jedi?"

"Yes." Behind the hologram her son nodded, enthusiastic. His crooked tooth flashed. The lips of the hologram figures moved, but there was no sound in the recording. She watched her son try and imitate one of the stances that this long-ago Malak was doing, raising an imaginary lightsaber above his head, and had to stop some forgotten place in herself from stepping forward and correcting his angle. Ghost Malak's shoulder's shifted, beautiful, perfect line of balance and power –

-- And her breath caught in her throat suddenly. Like a shockwave.

_No. That's – that's insane. That's not possible._

He held it two-handed, raising both hands above his head to counter her younger self's parry. He moved gracefully and oddly beautiful, lines of his broad shoulders in perfect synch under the thin robe, every angle in perfect alignment.

_Shai'cho. N'ha, Eskai._

_Dark here, it's dark here. Dangerous._

_Impossible._

_Malak is gone from this place. Malak is gone –_

_Impossible._

"Both of us need our sleep, kissra," she said out loud, keeping her voice flat. "Come on, Korrie, tomorrow's a big day."

"I'll be nine," he reminded her.

Revan smiled at him. "I know."

The galaxy wasn't so bad as long as it only had two people in it. But anything more than that was impossible. Untenable. Anything more than that wasn't allowed to exist.

XXX

_Canderous Ordo_

This place was too quiet, it felt like a tomb.

The enclave at Dantooine had been much smaller, and despite the Jedi reluctance to engage in the outside world, part of the farming community that surrounded it. The Jedi Temple on Coruscant was ancient and immense, built to house numbers that no longer existed. All corridors spiraled inward. Being inside, the rest of Coruscant ceased to be real.

It made him profoundly uncomfortable. Canderous had a hard time imagining Revan – or Carth – choosing to stay in such a place for long.

And yet they'd been here for more than two weeks.

Oerin Lin strode ahead of him, running his hands along the intricately carved walls, whistling an old battle hymn, whose sound reflected harsh and tinny off the cold marble. He glanced back at them.

"Stop hunching your shoulders, Mekel Jin," he called back. "They must know you're here. If they haven't clapped you in chains yet, I think you can assume that you're safe."

"Shut up, Lin," the Coruscanti boy muttered. He glanced up at Canderous, biting his lip nervously. "I don't like it here. Place gives me the creeps."

Canderous laughed. "Me too," he replied, slapping the whelp lightly on the back. "You didn't have to come with us, you know. We don't need the computer for this..."

"No, I had to come," Mekel answered. He looked at the floor. He looked guilty, but then again, he always did. "I need to see Dustil. I should have come sooner..."

"We only just got permission now. Onasi had to take it up with the highest Fleet command, his message said." Canderous snorted. _Republic. _Their gross inefficiency made his blood burn.

Behind them, HK gave a disgruntled clank from beneath the tower of boxes they'd stacked and strapped to his chassis.

"Unnecessary Reminder: I am not a transport carrier. When the Master sees the abject servitude to which you have subjected my finely-honed circuitry she will be most displeased."

"You did tell her we were coming now, didn't you?" Canderous asked Mekel. Carth had asked to see him, but he hadn't mentioned Revan at all. Well, perhaps she was busy regaining her memories or spending time with her son. Or doing more of those Jedi meditation exercises that had always looked like sleeping sitting up.

He glanced back at the HK. Most of what the droid carried was the clan's presents for the child, to celebrate the week of his birth. But there was one box that he wanted her to see...especially since...well who knew how she'd react to it really, especially after what had happened. Nonetheless, she had a right to know.

Mekel shook his head, nervous. "N-no, I—I didn't tell her."

Canderous sighed. Force-users never understood the practical side of things. "Tell her now," he ordered the boy.

Mekel just blinked at him. Oerin shrugged. "She's not listening," he said. "The Force isn't a comm unit, Ordo."

Canderous successfully resisted the urge to cuff them both. Oerin smiled and raised an eyebrow.

"As a boy," the Lin pup mused. "I often imagined that someday I'd come here." He shrugged. "I had hoped for an escort of shock troops...but..."

"We agreed, no violence," Canderous reminded him. "Unless Revan commands it."

Lin shrugged. "That was a joke." He started whistling again.

The carefully measured tread of several small sets of feet alerted them first. Then one broke into an excited clatter. Revan's son – Canderous would recognize that red cap of hair anywhere -- came barreling around the corner. Behind him the other little Jedi spawnlings stopped, trying hard to hide their shock. Their escort or teacher or whatever, a mottled Durian wrapped rather awkwardly in Jedi Master's brown, clicked and clattered what passed for its tongue.

"You're expected." The tone of its voder was faintly disapproving. Canderous grinned at it, then stepped back to admire the child. It was the first time he'd seen him in person. Malachor was a likely-looking whelp, big for his age. Someday, if he lived, he'd be a fine warrior.

"Mekel!" Malachor cried, throwing himself enthusiastically into the lad's arms. Mekel looked taken aback. As far as Canderous knew they'd never met.

"He wants to see you, Mekel...he says he thinks you know...who...you know..." the boy looked over at Canderous, a faint frown on his face. "I don't really understand, they say different things and how can you tell who's right?" He pulled away from Mekel and took a few steps towards Canderous. "Are you bad, Canderous Ordo?"

Canderous tried to come with an answer, but the child's attention had already shifted to the droid and the boxes it carried.

"Mother's Ache Kay!" He pulled at one of the boxes, almost unsettling the stack. "What's in here?"

"Statement: Revan-spawn, the Mandalorians have brought you gifts to pay you homage and to celebrate the fortunate occurrence of your birth nine standard years ago."

"My birthday was seven days ago, actually." Malachor corrected. His smile faded. "We had a cake, and Mother tried to be happy, but she's not, she's not happy at all. Except to see me, of course – but..."

The Durian clicked, disapproving. "There is no rank in these halls, citizens. Please do not cloud the child's head with delusions of his own importance. Such thinking —"

"— leads to the dark side. Yes, yes, we've seen the vids." Oerin Lin rolled his eyes and smirked at the other Jedi whelps, who were gaping, slightly open-mouthed. He turned back to Revan's son. "Malachor," he called out. "Come here and give your Uncle Oerin a hug."

The boy looked at him, dubious, and shook his head.

"Mal." The voice was flat and clipped, coming from one of the entranceways behind them. "Go...see your mother. She's in the Room of a Thousand Fountains."

"The apprentices are in the middle of a training exercise—" the Durian began.

"Malachor is not formally an apprentice, yet. You've made that abundantly clear. And Master Jopheena has approved that he spend time with his mother. While he can."

Canderous was impressed with the cold authority in Dustil Onasi's voice. The Durian gathered the rest of his flock around him, and took off hastily down one of the branching halls.

"Dustil," he said. "It's good to see you. Is your father—"

Sound of running feet from behind the Onasi boy and Carth came into view, slightly out of breath.

"You didn't tell me they were here already," he hissed at his son, glaring daggers.

Inwardly, Canderous raised an eyebrow. From the way the pilot used to talk about the boy he'd expected them to be on better terms. The whelp looked terrible, he wondered if he was ill. There were rumors of plague again, in the sublevels, and the Jedi were always going down there and doing good works.

"Are you ill, Dustil?" he began, politely. "We have excellent medical facilities at the hotel."

"I'm fine," the boy replied. He pushed his hair back from his forehead and looked at them all again, pale face perfectly expressionless. "Get out of here, Mal. Now."

"Curious," Oerin murmured in Mandalorian.

Dustil only looked at him, and the Lin cub fell silent, backing up slightly and holding his hands open, palms up. The Jedi on Dantooine, Canderous recalled, used a similar gesture to express goodwill and their lack of interest in combat.

At this point Canderous had been around enough Jedi that it didn't even phase him. Long silences, unexplained tension, lots of hair-rending and hand-wringing about the dark side...it all came with the territory. The Force was mysterious, capricious, and often annoying. You can't shoot what you can't see. The best thing to do was to ignore it.

"Is there a place to get a drink in this tomb, Republic?"

Carth stared at him. "Thank you for coming," he said finally, not answering the question.

"Can I take Ache Kay to Mother?" Malachor asked. He tugged at the droid's arm, almost upsetting the parcels.

"They're from the clans," Canderous assured Carth. "Perfectly safe. Books and clothes and sweets, mostly. I had them leave the weapons back at the hotel. For later." Dustil was scowling at him, the pilot only looked distracted. "Maybe later." Canderous added, feeling suddenly foolish at his discomfiture. "And there's something I wanted Revan to see. How is she?"

"She's fine," Carth said. "Meditating. She does that a lot." He looked troubled again. "Go on, Korrie," he said to the boy.

The child looked at Dustil. "Go on, Mal," Carth's son said. He took a step back and folded his arms.

_That's odd,_ Canderous thought, as the boy took off down the hall followed by the laden HK.

He shrugged and clapped an arm around Republic's back. "Drinks," he reminded his friend. "Don't worry I brought my own."

"I'll just go after Korrie and make sure he's fine --," Dustil began.

"_No._ Go... meditate someplace else. Stay away from them both." Steel in that voice. And some emotion that Canderous didn't understand. Extreme...dislike, maybe?

"Right," the boy muttered, trailing behind them.

Mekel Jin fell back to walk beside Dustil. The Coruscanti whelp had been very quiet. Canderous hoped he wasn't about to have another fit.

Oerin's whistling rattled off the halls.

XXX

_Revan_

There were a really a thousand fountains in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Once perhaps, a thousand Jedi sat here in contemplation, each keeping a fountain running with the Force. The room had fallen into disuse. There weren't very many Jedi here now. Sometimes she thought there should be more, she'd hear voices and laughter in the empty corridors and wonder if she'd come back to this place that she couldn't remember only to finally lose her mind.

If she concentrated, Revan could keep three hundred and seventy-two fountains going at once. She was trying for an even five hundred.

_Three hundred and seventy-three, three hundred and seventy-four..._

"_We'd let you find a real redemption, make a real choice." Iridel's voice had been kind. The Jedi were far from united on this – more like boxed into a corner – the negative publicity from Polla's death was causing them more trouble than they let her see, than she wanted to see – and some of them blamed her –_ as well they should, your fault even if you didn't pull the trigger or give the order your fault – _but here inside the cloistered halls it didn't matter._

_The world,_ she reminded herself, _only has two people in it._

And then the other one came running into the room.

"Mother!" He sounded happy and excited. Clank of something behind his small feet.

Revan opened her eyes and Korrie fell into her arms. Behind him loomed HK, draped in boxes.

The rush of water from three hundred and seventy-four fountains stopped.

"What's this?" she asked her son, smiling.

He grinned back at her. He'd been out in the gardens, his bare feet were stained green with grass and there were more freckles on his nose. More than two weeks had passed and he bore little resemblance to the staid Coruscanti heir she'd first met in the Senate chambers. His grandfather, she thought, vindictive, would have a fit to see. Revan rumpled his hair more.

"Presents!" he exclaimed. "For me from the Mandalorians."

With an aggrieved clank, her assassin droid began removed the boxes from his chassis, stacking them into neat piles on the ground.

"Statement: I am a protocol droid skilled in negotiation and elimination, not a luggage carrier," HK reminded her. "The Mandalorians need to be reminded of my proper function. I recommend a small explosive device to be set off during one of their tests of strength as a cue."

"You've been following Canderous' orders, right, HK?" Revan said, smiling faintly.

"Your programming left me no choice. After you abandoned me in the Senate Chambers, the CoruSec guards escorted me to the Mandalorian transport as if I were no more than chattel. Or...baggage."

Korrie laughed. "He's funnier than Grandfather's Ache Kay, Mother," he said. "I like him."

"Protect my son with your life," she reminded the droid.

"Assurance: And any other lives that happen to get caught in the way. I would welcome the opportunity." HK clanked, and handed her one of the boxes. It had been unsealed and then haphazardly rewrapped in clear plasticene foil stamped with the priority express symbol. "This is for you. The Mandalorian thought you would find it of interest."

Korrie started ripping open the other boxes, and Revan stared at the one in her hands, turning it over slowly.

The routing bar indicated that it had come from Deralia and the time stamp was over two weeks old.

Inside were three black silk robes and a card.

Her hand fingered the fabric. _Hand-woven, not export grade. Rough weave, but strong. They'll last forever. _She raised a fold of black cloth to her face.

Across from her, her son was busily ripping into one of the other boxes. The box contained a model basilisk war droid, set to scale. He gave a whoop of appreciation. Revan smiled at his exuberance, through her tears.

Hands trembling, she turned her attention to the card. It had been opened too. Canderous, she supposed, scanning her mail for poison or bombs.

_Dear Revan,_

_Presents, as you know, are old Deralian tradition from family to family. We're so happy that you're part of ours, and hope this finds you well. Congratulations on your marriage! I have to admit, usually Organas only marry one man at a time, but I expect you know your own mind, dear. You always have._

_Your sister, (and I hope you don't take offense, that we think of you both that way), is still a bit sulky about this entire thing, but she promised me that she'd get you and your husbands something nice. Let me know if she doesn't. I'll have words._

_Jasp is a little worried that we don't know you like we should. I know you're probably quite busy, what with all of the galaxy's problems, but we're back here at home, whenever you need us. We'd be delighted if you came for a visit, and if you ever need a place away from all those bright lights, our home is always open to you and yours._

_All our love,_

_Molla Organa._

Jasp and Auntie Mita's signatures were written in different hands underneath. Revan sat staring at the card for a long time, feeling the tears build behind her eyelids. She took a deep breath. The sound of rushing water surrounded them again like a rush. Like an ocean.

"Mother! You've made them all go on at once!" Korrie cheered at her. Revan tried to smile back through gritted teeth. The Force was like an ocean and she struggled to control it, not to scream—

"Your pacifistic display of Force power is impressive, Master. I am sure the Jedi are trembling with fear," said her droid.

Korrie was now opening a set of Mandalorian formal robes stamped with the Lin crest – a stylized skull set into a sun. He stared at them, frowning a little. "Mother, are the Mandalorians bad?" It was the question he kept asking her. Revan still didn't know how to answer it.

"They're our allies, Korrie," she said.

Around them the roar of the fountains stopped. Revan fingered the thick fabric in her lap, trying to ignore the ache in her throat and behind her eyes. _Two people. The universe has two people. You and me, my son._

"Can allies be bad? Can they do bad things? Some people," her son told her earnestly. "Don't like the Mandalorians at all. But you do." He cocked his head. "Are they like Grandfather? Sort of bad unless they like you?"

Revan tried not to look rattled by the question. "They like you, Korrie. I told you that."

She had, several times, ever since their first night in the Temple when he woke up with nightmares about Mandalorians under the bed. They'd had to move him out of the apprentice dorms for causing a disturbance.

"_With fire raining down from the sky and the people were running and trying to hide, Mother. But they couldn't hide."_

_She hadn't been able to get him to go back to sleep. He'd only quieted down again when Dustil sat by his bedside, holding his hand._

_Revan had been oddly jealous of Carth's son, and then felt guilty about it. That night, Carth had been the one who'd refused to leave the room until Korrie was safely asleep and Dustil back in his quarters next door. _

_Carth was so distant, ever since they'd come to this place. He spent all his time with Dustil, but they didn't seem to be getting along...well, they'd work it out. You had to let people sort themselves, Auntie Mita used to say that when I –_

_Auntie Mita's dead. Molla and Jasp Organa must know that you killed their daughter now. Face the facts. The truth hurts. Be Revan. _

_Revan had to face a lot of facts. _

She watched her son rip open more boxes, keeping the smile welded on her face, trying not to break.

XXX

"You can't go in there. The Padawan is not to be disturbed."

"I'm invited," rumbled a familiar voice. There was a pause. "I'm family."

"It's fine," she called out to the nervous Jedi Knight guarding the doorway. _Or spying on me. Is there a difference? _

"Revan." The warrior smiled at her, lines crinkling the corners of his eyes. She got to her feet, smoothing the robe they'd given her to wear – _Padawan beige. _Korrie looked up from his presents, face composed and polite.

"Thank you, Canderous of Ordo," he said. He had a book on his lap, now, a cheap holoprint, and was thumbing through the pages.

"You look like you're eating," the Mandalorian said to her, "but I've seen you happier. Still, compared to Republic –"

"Where is he?"

Canderous shrugged. "We had a drink in that cell of a room they've given you, talked about the future and then he took off down the hall after Dustil and Mekel. Overprotective, isn't he? Is he the same way about the young cub?"

"You're a fine specimen," he added, addressing Korrie. "Your Ordo cousins are looking forward to meeting you."

"I have cousins?" Her son looked up from his book, excited. Red brows puzzled for a moment and then his face fell. "Oh. You mean _Mandalorians_, like you." There was something in the way that he said Mandalorians. It sounded like – disgust.

"Have you started him on swords yet, or do the Jedi jump straight to lightsabers?"

"No lightsabers until I'm old enough to understand the responsibility," her son responded. "A Jedi's weapon is for defense and the protek-shun of others. It is not a toy."

Canderous snorted. "Heh, the Jedi I fought against used them for a lot more than that! And your mother, you should have seen the way she cut through those Sith on Manaan. And Korriban. And the Star Forge—it was—"

Revan tried not to wince. _Death. I'm good at death. It's what I do._

"You know, I haven't seen you draw the thing since – well, you know since –" the Mandalorian seemed to finally realize the awkwardness of the conversation and fell silent.

_Since the Star Forge. _

"But you're still carrying it," Canderous added. Revan's hand went to her belt where the silver cylinder hung. He peered at her. "Did they give you back your memories yet? I meant to ask Carth, but he ran off so quickly."

"They want me to meditate on my decision," she finally answered, when his expression started changing to concern.

"Well at least they let you run around armed." Canderous shrugged. "That's a good sign."

"Mother's a Jedi," her son explained. "Jedi carry lightsabers. I want a blue one, like –" he frowned again, looking at her cautiously and then at Canderous. "Like Father's."

"Your father was a demon with the blade, they used to say." The Mandalorian smiled. "I never fought him myself, but his slaughter was legend among the Clans. He had a great deal of respect, with the men of my people."

"Cand – don't –"

_Don't make death fun. Don't remind my son about Malak. Or me._

"Revan, he's _your_ son. People are trying to kill him. He's the son of two of the greatest warriors the galaxy has ever seen –"

"He's a _child._" Somewhere emotion had crept back into her voice. "Children don't kill."

_Unless they're me._

"Korrie, go – go find Carth. And Dustil." Her son's bottom lip jutted out in protest and he stared at the floor. "I need to talk to Canderous about grown-up things now."

_Grown-up things like guilt and how your hands never get clean, no matter what you do. You think you're a hero and then they flip the card over. And your hands still have blood on them. Lightsabers are clean, but your hands are bloody. Polla Organa. Seiran Wen. Their child. The Selkath Seven. Lukash Vair, Vikor Tio Beya Organa—_

Revan waited until her son's footsteps had faded before speaking again.

"Polla's _dead, _Cand. Because of me. The real Polla. Dead."

"You didn't kill her, Revan."

"Someone did. D'Reev or – or maybe Mission or someone else, trying to do me a favor..."

The warrior shrugged. "Did you read that card? Her parents don't blame you."

_Fracking thick Mandalorian skulls..._ Her hands clenched in lap, wrinkling the thick eridu robes. "They sent us these presents _before, _Cand. _Before. _When Polla was alive." She closed her eyes. "I got their only daughter killed. And their grandson. And her husband...they'll hate me now. And they _should._"

_Pollie put the kettle on, we'll all have tea._

"Well, she's hardly the first person to die for you, Revan. And when the woman called the hotel yesterday, Gwen said she didn't sound upset. She just wanted to give you a message."

"The woman? What woman?" She missed her son already. Revan reached out her senses and found his thoughts, focused, excited, a little confused. He was looking for Dustil again, and as always, that seemed to make him happy.

_Only two people in the world,_ she reminded herself. _Me and my son. And Korrie's happy. Happy to have his mother back, happy to be in this place where no one will kill him. And that's all that matters._

"Polla's mother. Molla Organa. Gwen said she wasn't upset. Deralians strike me as remarkably civilized people. She must understand that her daughter's death carries its own sort of honor. Polla died to protect you. The mother went to a fair amount of trouble, tracking us down. She couldn't get through to you here, of course." Canderous' face never showed much expression, but that slight twist of his scarred brow revealed his disgust. "This place is a tomb, Revan. You don't belong here. Take what you need and go."

She just looked up him, her mouth open. _You don't understand. How can you not understand? _The black part of her thoughts supplied the answer. _You destroyed his people, shattered his clan, probably killed most of his family. And Canderous doesn't hate _you_ for it. He respects you. To Mandalorians sacrifice is just a part of war. To Mandalorians, war is all that there is._

"That's not how they think on Deralia," she said, dully. "And it's not just—just Polla. Her husband, her _son. Her son died for mine? How_ is that fair? How is that right?" There were tears in her eyes again, and she wiped them away.

Canderous nodded. "She said you should cry for them. She said you should cry for them like you cried at your cousin's funeral. Gwen told me the cousin's name...I—" he looked slightly embarrassed and pulled a datapad out from the pocket of his vest. "Vish. Your cousin Vish. Mourn Polla and her family like you mourned for your cousin Vish. And then—" he continued, reading the words off the screen, "--and then move on."

"What?" Revan froze, looking up at him.

The Mandalorian shrugged. "They seem like a sensible planet, Deralians. I always assumed they would be from the stories you used to tell me of Polla's memories growing up. Weapons training from an early age, a natural suspicion of the Republic. Practical. I'd imagine they'd be fierce warriors as well."

"Cousin Vish, you said. Vish."

The name Vish tolled in her mind like a bell.

"_Stop fidgeting, dear. Hold still."_

"_Frack, Ma. It stings!" Twelve-year old Polla struggled ineffectively under her mother and Bolt's iron grip. Molla rubbed the raw slice of onnie again over her daughter's tightly-closed eyes._

"_That's the point. Now—open your eyes, let me see. No, dear, stop blinking so much, and don't rub them. Not yet. You'll wash it all out too early, and we need to make a good show at the cemetery—"_

"_I didn't even know her that well! I could just look sad. I can handle that, I'm not a fracking baby..."_

"_They'll be watching us all closely, Pollie. We can't afford to take any chances."_

Cousin Vish Organa had faked her own death to collect the insurance money and run off to join a band of space pirates. It was said that she was doing quite well, somewhere between the Krom asteroid field and the Outlier ring.

"Poor Vish," Revan whispered, remembering the sad murmurs at the empty grave. Polla Organa had been twelve. _"Poor Vish, so tragic."_

Half the room of course had known the truth.

The other half had been a team of Corellian investigators from the insurance company.

Revan's mouth opened and closed.

"Thank you," she said finally, although that seemed woefully inadequate.

"Good," the warrior said gruffly. "That's better. Now stand up. We should probably go find Oerin. He wandered off somewhere, and there's no telling what sort of mischief that pup will get into left on his own." He snorted, bending down to pick something up. It was the book that Korrie had been looking at. A battered copy of _The Adventures of Nomi Sunrider and Knights of Ossus, Volume Ten: The Death of Ulic._ "Your son likes this? It was Oerin's as a boy, he said." The large hands turned the fragile plasticore sheets, and the brightly colored images within shimmered. Revan had a stir of memory looking at it, although from Polla's mind or her own she wasn't sure.

_Not volume Ten, though. Volume Two. Nomi and baby Vima and Ulic..._

_She crushed the fragile spine beneath her heel, and the dancing images shattered. His horribly disfigured face watched her._

_Without a mouth Malak had no expression. And no voice. That made him less effective._

"_I made a prosthesis for you."_

Revan made herself laugh, slamming down the fragment that was less than a memory with a resolute thunk. "I can't see Oerin reading that. It's just holotrash."

"Something his mother gave him, he said." Canderous' expression was thoughtful. "She was an interesting woman. In some ways, you remind me of her."

"You knew her?" Revan stretched her arms. She was stiff from sitting so long. It felt like she'd been sitting for days.

"Not well, but she oversaw some of the conversion work for Ordo. She was very enthusiastic about our invasion plans—" he broke off, as if remembering his manners.

"Volume Ten," Revan repeated, trying to find something to say. Thoughts of Oerin romping through the Jedi Temple distracted her. "We'd better find Lin," she agreed. Somewhere in the marble halls her son was racing down a corridor towards the archives. Bright happy thoughts. Dustil was there. With Carth and Mekel. She felt the Force pull and shimmer around her, sparks of bright Jedi energy as the inhabitants of the Temple went about their business, overshadowed with the familiar unease that she was pretty sure had to do with her. She could find no trace of Lin.

"He's hiding," she said out loud, looking for where he was not, watching the sparks for their reactions. "Why did you bring him here?"

"He wanted to come," Canderous said. "I assumed he wanted to meet the child. After all, he's family." He shook his head. "Speaking of family, what's eating Republic? I would have thought he'd be happy to have his son back. Dustil seems capable. You should have seen him ordering the Jedi around. He'll make a fine leader someday. "

"Huh?" A great deal of her mind was still focused on Korrie's thoughts, and the rest on the news that Polla wasn't dead.

_She's probably pissed off – I would be if someone took my identity, forced me into hiding, ruined my life..._

Revan had never thought much about the real Deralian, except to envy her for the normal life she'd had, but she suddenly had an irrational desire to see her.

_She'd shoot you before you got closer than thirty paces. She must hate your guts. _

_It doesn't matter, she's alive. There are a hundred places to hide in the Outliers if you're smart and you know the drill. Abandoned mining camps in the Defelli asteroid field, low-tech worlds along the Catafan spire...hell, you could just go south to the Derran coast – caves there, a network of smuggling towns...there's plenty of places to go where no one could ever find --._

"Carth and Dustil," Canderous repeated. "Is rivalry normal between fathers and sons on Telos? If they were Mandalorian they'd take it to the battle circle, but I don't imagine the Jedi condone that..."

"They'll work it out," Revan said, emptily. Her mind skipped around the impossibility again, like a grenade glancing off a forcefield.

XXX

_Thalia May_

She'd had the dream again the night before. Absently, Thalia rubbed her hand against the coarse fabric of her robe, a vain attempt to cure a phantom itch. Next to her on the balcony overlooking the Garden of the Departed, Padawan Lydie Korr covered her mouth with a light brown hand to stifle a nervous giggle.

"That's the Fett Mandalore," the Zabrak whispered to Thalia. "The real one that isn't _Revan_. I saw the recordings from the Senate talks when I was helping Master Atris archive recent news and events. Mandalore isn't a hereditary title, exactly – but five thousand years ago, when the Mandalorian Empire stretched as far as the Hydian Way—"

"Well there's not very many Mandalorians left," Thalia interrupted. She had felt very tired and drained, the past few days. And her dreams had been worse than usual. Sometimes the shadows hanging over the Temple walls seemed so real and tangible that she wanted to scream.

"_The future is always in motion," Master Iridel had said. "And although what you have told me is disturbing, it is not carved in stone. We see one piece of the weave, but the will of the Force sees all. You must trust it, Thalia May. You must learn to see. See the fabric of the universe. Hear the music of the spheres."_

What Thalia had seen was death walking. Sometimes she thought she was going mad.

"What is he doing?" Lydie murmured.

Below them the Fett Mandalore stood in front of the Nomi Sunrider statue. The sun through the clouds glinted on his golden hair, flashed a dull sheen on his Mandalorian armor. His head tilted, looking at it, and he ran a hand along the carved limwood of Nomi's robes.

"That's kind of odd..." Thalia's voice trailed off and she rubbed her temples. The man below them was important: in his profile stamped like an old credit chip from some long-ago empire she saw flames and stars. And a force of nature like a hurricane that was –

"He's kneeling!" Lydie gasped. "Thallie, do you think we should tell someone? Jopheena or Atris or –"

Thalia's eyes unfocused. Her mind twisted in time, but whatever the Mandalorian's fate was, it was hidden behind the gray barrier.

The grayness had haunted her always, ever since her childhood on Ziost, and now it was closer than ever.

"_You shouldn't be here," the dark-haired man said. No surprise in his voice. Just dead acceptance of the role he had to play. Perhaps he'd had this dream too._

_The room they were in was small and cramped and crude. The dead thing strapped to the bed had been a Jedi once. She didn't know which Jedi. It no longer had a face._

Her hand reached for Lydie's and she squeezed it, tightly.

_Don't let it be you, Lydie._

"_I dreamed of you," dream-Thalia said, simply, moving closer. _

"_You shouldn't have come," he repeated. Something vulnerable in that voice. Something pleading underneath the madness. "I'd build you a castle of stars. I'd keep you away safe, I'd save you – but you – you shouldn't have come."_

"_You have to see," Thalia said simply. "I dreamed of you." _

_XXX_

_A/N_

I wanted a Zaalbar pov (yes, okay in part to avoid the Prisoner "disappearing character rule...) in this and had a terrible time getting into the right mindset. When I finally gritted teeth and started writing it, (months after some of the Revan/leet Sith assassin stuff...), the only thing that really clinched it for me was thinking of Dinah Lance's recent (and amazing) challenge piece about Canderous. And the line, "I will follow." Very little in _Memory_, or in most things are entirely original, but sometimes inspiration is so direct that it must be acknowledged. Thanks, Di, again for letting me steal that. It's a sentiment that works amazing for Cand' too, albeit in a slightly different way...this is extremely angsty Zaal...hopefully he will snap out of it.

External references: Bladerunner, for tone of first piece...and husband says, Thieves )aka Mandalorians) in the Temple is Conan reference...he may be correct. Music of the spheres might be Cicero, I dunno. Bars, cars...is Nabokov, Lolita. Turn!Turn!Turn! is the Byrds, and, okay, I know this is cheesy, but really that song is where I got the idea for Mandalorian seasons in the first place.

NZL82 : Yes, going for Roman senate concept here, not nice democratic one. I can't buy the Lucas version as that, either, actually. I haven't read Colleen Mc...(hm, or I think I have, but I think I was like, 13...ah yes, the Thorn Birds!) – but the I, Claudius, Gladiator, Godfather, um, this trashy book called "Raptor" and a few other things are prob a lot of my inspiration for Coruscanti politics. Oh, and the Fox Network.

Kotor-geek / Here's more on the M/R/M family thing...glad you like. And...okay, that line we discussed on lj? Well I did cut it, but...if it makes you feel better, imagine it is still there. Was a tough call. Okay, not hurrying fast enough, but here it is.

snackfiend101 Okay, do all Force Ghosts have to have the Force? This is one of those questions I am hoping to leave up to the reader...since, that would seem to make sense, but the question of whether Mita (or for that matter Mission) has it is something I think we don't need to discuss. I dunno, I have thought about this too much. Feh, my head hurts.

Tim Radley / glad you liked, they get harder to write, as you have to start tying things up...and the revlations re: Mandie wars, although part of my early plans, were hard to know how to bring up...and this chapter continued that trend, with more fun revelations and clues that I have been trying to tie in...

Organas will continue to be significant, I'd expect, although sometimes I worry that I am making the Jedi out to be a bunch of dimwits...then again...maybe that's canon.

And yes, an Open Palm and Closed Fist reference too...it seemed to fit 

Arrow / I think Revan and Korrie will never be separated again. With all the hell everyone has to go through in this epic...that seems a reasonable compromise? Also, any sith kid excess in the following chapters, is entirely your fault. Well, okay, you and phoq. And Pris. And Rose. But mostly you.

Prisoner 24601/ Mandies are far from neutered, in fact atm, they're pretty happy. Heh. This chapter is pretty much a lot of Mandalorian. I had to rewrite the Canderous sections a few times...as Dinah's version started making me realize how cuddly mine can be. Vrook, Nayama, and Jolee owe their friendship to you, as does my writer's block with getting this up...then again, it gave me lots of time to think, and that is not a bad thing.

GenSun Okay, I am late...blame Prisoner and Arrow. And maybe World of Warcraft.

Phht / Nod yes, it did. Maybe I should have said neutron star? Actually I am not sure about the mechanics of suns après nova. But that's why it was Cron, where they died. Anyways, I cut the last line on the version I posted on fanmedia site...and that is all your fault, heh.

Rose7 / You rock for putting up with my endless betas and long chapter and everything...Carth sort of gets a break here...in the sense that we don't get to hear his inner turmoil...but I expect it will be back. As always, ty tyty. And...happy birthday. Lydie Korr is one of the best OC's I have ever seen, and, with your permission, I can think of a few more things for her to do.

Also, I promise not to kill her off.

XXX


	27. Not With a Bang

**_Polla Organa_**

They were playing the clip on the newsvids again. The one where Uncle Boon tried to knife the Coruscanti Senator in some kind of fit of misguided nobility. Polla sighed, watching it from the corner of the smoky cantina, her face carefully covered by a wide visor, goggles and hood. Junior was safe and snug in her lap. Knowing her father, Uncle Boon probably still didn't know the truth. Probably safer that way, but it still made her sad, watching his face. He'd been a pretty decent uncle.

A meter in front of her, Seiran leaned against the bar, talking to their contact.

The Silk Road didn't exist on any map, but it was a town all the same. The southern Derran continent had hundreds of settlements like this, off any official record, designed to facilitate free trade and avoid expensive Corellian tariffs. The Outlier worlds were technically beholden to Corellia. But people found their own ways around the most troublesome aspects of that.

A faint smile played across Polla's face as she watched the deal go down. Really, this was kind of funny. Their contact had no idea. She hoped she was right to trust him. When you thought about it, it was insane to trust him. But like it or not, her ex-lover was part of her father's plan. Apparently, they'd stayed in touch. Apparently, they still did business together.

"Jasp tells me you want a ship - a fast ship - and passage to the Defelli system."

"To Feldelroy."

The smuggler raised an eyebrow. "Not easy, between a hyperspace jump into an asteroid field, and natives who like to shoot people."

Seiran took a sip of his ale, watching the other man carefully. "I hear you're the man for the job."

Therion D'Cainen rolled his eyes. "You hear wrong. I'm not that crazy. CorSec's cracking down on the entire sector." He still had the same old habits. Polla watched her ex crack his knuckles and lean back against the bar, examining her husband's nondescript and shabby attire with that cocky raised eyebrow that was so infuriating it made her want to shoot _him._

"You'll find we can pay," Seiran said, lazily.

They could, provided he didn't ask for too much. Not like there's much time to save an emergency fund for faking your own deaths and running. The whole thing had happened so fast. It wasn't until she'd seen the commentary on the vids speculating about who might have killed them, that Polla had realized how many enemies they had.

_Thanks a lot , Revan fracking Starfire._

Again, she thought about special places in hell reserved for Sith Lords who stole other people's lives. Right up there with Jedi who did all the dirty work and uncles who couldn't keep their damn mouths shut.

"What's the cargo?"

"Myself, my wife and son, and no questions."

As if on cue, Junior began to wail. The smoke was probably bugging him. Both men's heads jerked around. Polla let her fingers fall in a half-wave, grinning under her visor veil, pleased to see the total non-recognition on her former lover and smuggling partner's face. Damnit, her father had better be right about this. There weren't many pilots good or foolish enough to go jumping off the official routes in the Defelli belts. She could do it herself, sure. But they didn't have cash for a ship.

Therion frowned. "It's a baby. I don't like kids."

"I don't think he likes you either," Seiran said, glowering. He was so cute when he glowered.

"Sorry," Therion said flatly. "I've stopped doing the hayseed runs. Deep core's where the profit is. I'm going to Coruscant. I have a...media contact there." Flashy smile on his face now, dimples. The one that broke hearts when you were eighteen and stupid enough to have one. "They've offered me six million credits for my life story. You see, I knew Polla Organa from way back." His smile turned smug now, as if he expected Seiran to be impressed. "In fact, you could say she and I were pret-ty close."

Frack this. Polla was losing patience. Wasn't it bad enough that the schutta had made her legally dead? Was it fair that her ex-boyfriend should profit from the tragedy too?

"Therion." Polla pushed the goggles she was wearing to the top of her head, exposing her face. "Take us to Defelli or I'll make sure Suvam hears about what really happened back on Biscain with that dumped spice. You know how he gets about freelancers."

There was a long silence, during which time Therion's mouth opened and closed a lot. Then he sputtered. "Fracking hell!"

"Don't use that kind of language around me. I'm a married woman!" Polla rolled her eyes. "Cut the banthacrap." She cuddled her son close to her chest, let her voice lilt entreatingly. "Will you take us there? Please?"

After that it was cake, really. After all, they were pals from way back. And Polla had enough dirt on him to send him into all nine of the Correllian hells if he betrayed them.

**XXX**

**_Mekel Jin_**

Walking through the marble halls of the fracking Jedi Temple with Malak in Dustil's body and Mission in Mekel's brain was a great deal like being chained to two large and fast-moving objects spinning in diametrically opposed orbits. Any second now, they were going to make his head explode.

And the wave of hopeless rage through the bond almost made Mekel Jin fall down.

Okay, make that _three_ objects. Even if he couldn't see Dustil, the real Dustil, except in dreams, he could still feel him. Queasily, Mekel wondered if this was going to be the rest of his short fracking miserable life - torn between a Sith Lord, a dead girl and his disembodied best friend. If so, it fracking sucked worse than working as a joyboy for Moms, or rolling marks for credits. Even Dreshdae had been fun, comparatively speaking. Even Mandalorian girls like Millifar didn't make up for this.

Lord Malak continued speaking quietly, as if he hadn't noticed Mekel's sudden stagger. Perhaps he hadn't. It was certainly possible that dead former Sith Lords had more important things on their minds than the well-being of their (possibly former) minions.

"You must tell me about the Mandalorians' plans, Jin." Lord Malak said. His Telosian accent was terrible.

"You call me Mekk, usually, sir." Mekel said deferentially. Then he winced. _And I don't call Telos 'sir.' Fracking bloody hell!_

Mission's subvocal barrage increased in intensity.

—_First off, I can't contact my central core. It's offline. Do you know what this means, bantha-brain? I'm crippled! I don't expect you to do anything but you could act a little bit concerned . . . - _

Mekel rubbed his temples. "I am concerned, Blue," he mumbled under his breath. Dustil's head turned back at him and raised an eyebrow. He smiled at it weakly and resisted the urge to kneel. Mekel wasn't sure how anyone was being fooled by Darth Malak's Onasi impression. He wasn't even close.

_- And second, that is _**not** _Dustil. And you have a Force bond so you must know that. So the thing is, Sithboy, when are you gonna tell me what's going on? Who the hell is that? And what have they done with Dustil?-_

Mekel shook his head, trying to clear it. The real Dustil was somewhere here too, like something buried beneath the surface clawing to get out. Spots danced in front of his eyes and the back of his throat had a telltale metallic tang.

_All I need to is to have another fit now in the middle of the Jedi bloody Temple –_

"Sir," he muttered, moving closer. "Is Telos – is Dustil going to be – I mean you're going to l-let him h-have his body back, right?"

_-Who is that? You'd better tell me or I'll do something terrible.-_

"You're perspiring." Lord Malak frowned at him and stopped walking. Dustil's hand reached out to the neck of Mekel's robes, which was of course, tightly buckled over the collar. "You should loosen –" his hand brushed against the bulky apparatus and he frowned. Not Dustil's frown. "Wait. What is this?"

Mekel jerked back. "N-nothing, my Lord –"

"You said you call me Telos." Not Dustil's smile. Lord Malak stepped closer and undid the fastenings that hid the collar. His expression darkened. "So, call me Telos, _Mekk_. What is this?"

Mekel's hand went to his throat. "Nothing, it's – nothing." The slaver's collar thrummed under his fingertips with Mission's furious intensity.

_- Answer me, Sithboy! Why are you calling him my lord? Why are you acting like this? Where the hell is Dustil?—_

Something like an electric shock jolted through his spine. Mekel winced.

"Is this how the Mandalorians make you serve them?" The mouth twisted. Dustil's eyes had never looked that dark when it was Dustil's glare behind them. Dustil's hand grabbed his throat, fingers exploring the place where metal met skin. "This is Czerka manufacture," Lord Malak observed. "But it's been modified. Did my _wife_ put this around your neck, Jin? Is this how Revan controls her servants? With the threat of death?" The former Dark Lord scowled. "She hasn't changed."

_- His _**wife?** W_hat the bantha-spit poo doo is going on? –_

Mekel jerked away. _Death? What thread of death? _"Stop it," he muttered. "Both of you, shut up."

Malak stepped back and crossed Dustil's arms across his chest. The pose was all Dark Lord, but his voice was gentle. "Who has the detonator key, Mekel?"

"The what?" Mekel didn't want to fracking understand.

"The control to the detonator. On the collar."

Mekel's hand went to his neck, where a thin ridge of skin had started to grow over the metal edge. "The what?" he repeated stupidly. Really stupidly, because to the sinking feeling in his chest, this was all starting to make sense. Growing up as he had, you learned fast that everyone had their agenda. Trust and friendship . . . only went so far.

Under his fingertips the collar thrummed, then went silent.

XXX

_Lydie Korr_

The Mandalorian got up from his kneeling position in front of the Nomi Sunrider statue, looked up across the garden, and waved at them. "Hello!" he called. His smile was bright, even from a distance.

Lydie realized she'd been holding Thalia's hand like a talisman and dropped it fast. Padawans didn't cling to each other for reassurance. Good padawans had more decorum. _A good padawan is self-reliant,_ Aunt Marla had always said. _A good padawan assesses the situation, and knows when events are beyond their abilities. A good padawan knows when to retreat._

"I think we should go," she murmured to Thalia May, who was still kind of – well, gaping at the heir to the Mandalorian empire.

"Yes," her friend said. And didn't move from their place on the balcony.

Below them, on the Meditation Garden grounds, the Mandalorian was still smiling.

"He's important," I think." Thalia's voice was barely a whisper. "But I can't see beyond the veil."

Thalia saw things. And knew things – things that most padawans did not. Lydie wondered sometimes if it was a side effect of the dark side. Was the dark side was some kind of contagion, or was this just the way her friend's particular Force gift manifested itself? Everyone was different, Master Croi had always told her that. Some padawans were good with combat techniques, and others were good with healing, and others, (like Lydie herself) were better at levitation and manipulation of inanimate objects. And Thalia – Thalia had dreams that came true. Thalia knew things that were going to happen, even when you didn't tell her about them.

Sometimes Lydie wondered what Dustil Onasi and Mekel Jin would have been good at, if they'd stayed padawans. Were they like Thalia May? Would they see the future too? _Could _they see the future? And if so, if seeing the future was a dark side trait, what did that mean in terms of the future itself? Was that why they'd left the Jedi? Did that mean that ultimately the Sith would win?

There were some questions you couldn't ask a Jedi master.

"Are you allowed to come down from there?" the Mandalorian called up. His smile, even from a distance did something funny to Lydie's stomach.

"I'm not sure that's wise-" she began, even as Thalia called back an affirmative.

The Mandalorian folded his arms, and Thalia May, someone Lydie had never thought of as being reckless, or rash, or irrational enough to jump into a situation that was beyond her abilities, swung one leg and then the other over the balcony railing and Force-jumped to the ground below. Once landed, she brushed herself off, straightened, and began talking to the strange interloper as if it was the most normal thing in the galaxy, as if they both weren't sequestered padawans, as if she'd never read about the Mandalorian Wars and all of the things the Mandalorians had done –

Of course maybe they hadn't done them on Tanaab, or Ziost, or where ever Thalia May was really from. No. They'd done them on Iridonia. One of the first planets they'd attacked in their war against the galaxy.

There was another funny feeling in Lydie Korr's stomach as she Force-jumped after her friend. When she stood up, (one knee a little sore, as if she'd landed too hard), her hands were shaking. It took Lydie a second to remember this feeling, because it had been so long since she'd felt it. Five years, in fact. Five years since she'd seen the holofeeds about Iridonia burning and heard about her brother's disappearance.

Some Zabrak had joined the Mand'oade, some people said. Some people said the Mandalorians would take anyone, as long as they married into a tribe. Especially male-anyones, and Zepth had been male, even if he was just a kid, barely into manhood. Maybe he was a Mandalorian now. Maybe he'd married one, and put on armor, and who could tell what they looked like under their armor? They could all be Zabrak. Maybe he'd fought in the wars and died for them, or maybe –

Lydie could hardly remember his face. Just the way he'd lifted her into the air and swung her around in a circle while Gulla complained and Attina laughed, and Aurel sulked. Maybe Zepth's eyes had been blue, or brown, but how was she to know? How was she to remember when she'd been six when Aunt Marla came and took her to the Jedi? Six, and all her siblings could do was wave goodbye, and once she'd had a brother (actually she'd had two, but now only Aurel was alive, as far as they knew) but now he was probably dead and the _Mandalorians _were responsible.

_I don't want to lie to you, dotter, but things have been bad here. The government burned the farm to keep the enemy from rayding our crops._ That was what the letter said. _But were all fine, except for Zepth. No ones seen him since the last raid, and we can only hope for the bestest. Now that you're a Jedi, Lydie-Lu, maybe you can tell if he's dead? Can Jedi do that? Maybe you could ask my sister, but I know she's probably busy–_

Lydie couldn't tell if Zepth were dead. How was she supposed to tell? She couldn't even remember the color of his eyes.

"This is Padawan Korr," Thalia said. Then she did something even more out of character than leaping off a balcony. She gave Oerin Lin a kiss. A deep one, on the lips with tongue. All Lydie could do was try not to gape in astonishment.

"Well!" The Mandalorian had fair skin. It turned a bright shade of pink when Thalia kissed him. For a second, he looked entirely shocked and about a decade younger. Then he recovered, so smoothly Lydie wondered if she'd imagined his embarrassment. "I'm Oerin Lin," the Mandalorian said to Lydie. His teeth were too white. They didn't look like human teeth at all. "Charmed." He leaned forward slightly, as if he expected her to kiss him too.

Lydie was positive she didn't want to do that. Instead, she held out her hand. His fingers were warmer than she expected from a human. They made the skin prickle between the indentations on her shoulderblades.

"Lydie," she muttered. "My name is Lydie. Padawan Lydie Korr."

"Oerin," the Mandalorian murmured back, like they were playing a game. "My name is Oerin Lin Fett Mandalore."

Lydie tried to kick her brain into functionality, tried to sound like an authoritative Jedi speaking to an intruder, instead of some kind of insipid adolescent. "What are you doing here?" Did Thalia know him? Was that why she'd kissed him like that? They were pretty good friends at this point, and Lydie was sure that unlike _some _people, Thalia May didn't go around kissing just anyone, even if they were attractive and available and looked like they knew how to do it pretty well -

Oerin's smile widened, if that was even possible. She wondered if it would split his face in two. "I always wanted to see the Jedi Temple." He paused. "And since Lord Revan has decided to spend her time here, naturally, I decided to visit." His head tilted slightly. "I've never seen a Zabrak Jedi before. Are there more like you?"

"My Aunt Marla -" Lydie caught herself saying the words before she could stop them. "And – some others. A few."

"A few," he nodded seriously, as if that was a response. "There are a few in the Mandalorian army also. Your people make great fighters."

Crazily, she wanted to ask about Zepth, but that was insane, wasn't it? Even more crazily, she wanted to like this man, she wanted to find him attractive, she wanted to answer his questions about the Jedi –

The prickling feeling up her spine increased and spread down her arms. Lydie rubbed her fingers against her outer robes, as if that would help.

"We have class in a few minutes," Thalia said. That wasn't true. They had another hour. They were supposed to be studying, but Thalia had heard there were Mandalorians in the temple and she'd told Lydie and they both wanted to see. Or at least, Lydie had wanted to see. Thalia had apparently wanted to make out with them.

"Yes," Lydie seized the excuse. "We have class. It was nice meeting you, Citizen Lin." Were Mandalorians even citizens of the Republic? There had been something going on with the Senate about that, but Lydie hadn't watched the holofeeds. Ever since Master Atris had asked Master Croi to have her assigned to the library, her time was never her own.

Except for stolen moments like this. Stolen moments she'd meant to spend explaining to Thalia May about how she was wrong about Padawan Loanin's interest in Padwan Korr, how that interest was _strictly _intellectual and not a violation of the Code at all –

"I'm sorry," Thalia said to Oerin Lin. "Sometimes power isn't enough."

The Mandalorian laughed, raising both eyebrows. "Oh?" His hand reached for hers, enfolding the small brown fingers with his own calloused ones, bringing her hand to his lips. "Is that Jedi wisdom?"

"It's mine," Thalia said seriously. It took her a moment to pull her hand back. "My wisdom. I'm sorry." Her eyes drifted to their entwined fingers and then she pulled her hand away.

"I accept your apology." His handsome face looked a little puzzled.

"What is he doing here?" The voice came from behind them. Adult, commanding and angry. Lydie turned around and was startled to discover it belonged to Padawan Dustil Onasi. Even more surprising, there was Mekel Jin trailing behind him dressed in civilian clothes that looked tailored to fit him in a way padawan robes never had.

"Excuse me?" The Mandalorian folded his arms, glaring at the intruders.

"You shouldn't be here," Dustil said.

Thalia May had said that Dustil and Mekel had gone to the underlevels. Wouldn't she know? Hadn't they been friends? Where ever they had gone seemed to have made Dustil grow up. Lydie remembered him as a silent, sulking padawan, who always knew the right answers but never gave them, preferring to laugh with Padawan Jin at some private joke, or never come to classes at all. But this Dustil was different. Even his voice sounded stronger, like one used to giving commands.

_"Telos,_" Mekel Jin muttered. "Don't -"

"Look what their influence has done to you," the other boy snapped at him. "Enslaved by her machine."

"I'm not!" Mekel Jin tugged at the necklace he was wearing. He stared murderously at the floor.

"Interesting," said Oerin Lin.

Dustil's mouth twisted in a snarl that was almost feral. "You don't know the half of it, Lin."

There was a long pause as the two men stared at each other. Lydie had the sensation of continents colliding, asteroids wrenched out of their orbit, great tremors in the Force.

To her surprise, it was the Mandalorian who looked away first. "I never thought I'd see _you_ again. Do the Jedi know?"

The Telosian boy folded his arms. "Some of them do, I think." Dustil snorted. "You know the Jedi. They watch and they hope things won't turn out badly." The way his face twisted made it easy for Lydie to imagine him on Korriban.

"Ah," the Mandalorian grinned. "Perhaps the Jedi just need the proper guidance. Is that why you came back?"

"The proper _guidance?" _Dustil scoffed. "You're just like your father, Lin. Over-extended, out of resources, and in someone else's pocket."

"Dustil, we should go." Mekel Jin caught his friend's arm. His black eyes darted towards her and Thalia, and then ducked away. "Hey, Thally," he mumbled.

"Mekel," she said, nodding a little. "You look like hell."

"Yeah..." he shrugged and his black eyes met Lydie's. He swallowed. "Hi, Lydie."

"My father died honorably." Oerin Lin spread out his hands, looking like he was giving a speech to thousands instead of just the four of them. "May I do the same."

"Padawan Jin," Lydie said. Her face felt hot, which was ridiculous. "Are you coming back to the Jedi too?"

Did that sound too hopeful? Did she really want Mekel Jin to come back? Did he even remember the time he'd almost kissed her in the restricted section before Master Atris interrupted, or was the sort of thing that happened to him all the time?

"I don't think so," Mekel dashed her hopes – not that they were hopes. Why should she care about another dark-eyed Padawan? Not like he was the only one - "The Mandalorians adopted me. I'm one of them now."

"You can't go with them," Dustil snapped at him. "I won't allow it."

Mekel frowned at him. "You're not in charge, sir."

Since when was Dustil Onasi a sir? Since when did Dustil Onasi act like he was in charge of anything more advanced than sulking?

"You have no power here!" Oerin laughed again and waved his arm. "Begone, unclean spirit!"

To Lydie's surprise, (not to mention confusion), Dustil Onasi actually stumbled backwards. For a second.

Then his face twisted, furious, and he lunged at Oerin Lin in a flying leap.

Both men crashed to the ground. Someone's skull hit the flagstones with a sickening crunch, and someone else's rib maybe cracked – unmistakable sounds when you'd been on the receiving end during combat practice as many times as Lydie had, when you'd healed as many bones as she had –

"We have to stop them!" she cried out. For some reason, Thalia was just standing there, watching open-mouthed, and Mekel Jin was just as useless. Why had she ever thought he was cute? Right now he was cringing.

Somehow Oerin Lin had ended up on top, his hand buried in Dustil Onasi's throat. "You have to yield. Haven't you heard you're a Mandalorian citizen? I'm your ruler."

Any response Dustil had was lost in choking sounds. Choking sounds that finally spurred Lydie Korr into action.

"Stop it!" she said again, holding out her hand. "Freeze!"

The Force move she'd practiced so assiduously in combat training, (because her lightsaber moves were so weak and Master Croi said sometimes the best offense was a good defense), finally came to good use. Both figures froze. Dustil in mid-grimace, and the Mandalorian on top of him, still with that sickeningly confident smile pasted across his face.

A blaster shot ricocheted overhead. "Get off him!"

Lydie's head turned, concentration broken. Captain Carth Onasi, (who was one of Revan Starfire's husbands according to what Thalia had said), strode into the room, guns drawn. Was he allowed to carry weapons in the temple? Usually only Jedi were allowed.

Behind him trailed the smallest apprentice in the Jedi Temple. Malachor D'Reev. Revan's son.

"Frack," Mekel Jin muttered.

"Get off him," the Captain repeated steadily. He had a pistol in each hand, and their laser sights were trained – one on his son's forehead, and one on Oerin Lin's. For a second, it looked as if he didn't know which one of them to shoot.

Lydie's Force hold had broken with her concentration. Now, both men stared at the Captain. Slowly, Oerin Lin moved off of Dustil and stood up.

"Are you defending me now?" Dustil's grin twisted. "Thanks a lot, _father." _The vitriol he seemed to reserve for that word more than she expected. But maybe if you were raised by the Sith on Korriban you had different standards about things like fathers and mothers and families. She barely knew hers at all, except for the letters that came, every half-year (Iridonian standard), precise as binary code and just as unintelligible.

_Dear Lydie, I hope everythings well with you and my sister Marla. Gulla and Attina started dancing. It's pretty good money, except for the hours. I hardly ever see my baby girls anymore. I hope your learning everything you can with the jedai you were always the smart kid. I am so proud –_

Sometimes Lydie wondered what those letters were supposed to make her feel. She was afraid to ask Aunt Marla. A master on the Jedi Council probably had better things to do with her time than answer her niece's questions.

"You're coming with me, son,_"_ Captain Onasi snapped back.

"Does Revan know?" Oerin Lin looked from father to son in fascination.

_Know what? _Lydie wondered. _Know that Dustil and his father don't get along? _

"No," the Captain gestured with one blaster. "And I intend to keep it that way."

Dustil laughed. "You can't protect her forever. And I find it hard to believe that you'd choose the Mandalorians. You were in the wars."

"The Mandalorians didn't kill my wife," Captain Onasi gritted.

"They'll kill a lot more if my father gets his way."

Beside Lydie, Mekel made a sound in the back of his throat. "Frack," he muttered again. "We should get out of here."

"That's not Dustil, is it, Mekk?" Thalia moved closer to them, all three of them edging towards the doorway.

What did she mean? It wasn't fair that in the middle of watching something that might have historical significance take place, what Lydie Korr noticed were how long Mekel Jin's eyelashes were. It wasn't appropriate that the first thing she wondered was what the rough stubble on his face would feel like. It wasn't right at all, but she did.

Mekel snorted. "What gave it away – me calling him sir? No..." Mekel – _Mekk- _said. His hands tugged at the collar around his neck. "That's not Dustil. That's -"

"_Malak," _Captain Onasi's voice was dark. A blue vein throbbed on his forehead. His face was nearly purple with rage. "Get out of my son's body." He gestured with the blaster again. "I've been patient. I hoped you would go peacefully, but I'd rather see him dead than this." His eyes were the eyes of a man who had seen too much. A man with nothing to lose.

"But Malak's dead." Lydie felt stupid. Surely, this was obvious. "Force possession doesn't really happen – just in legends, it's a metaphor. Force ghosts don't really –"

"I can't," Dustil – or Not-Dustil, or Malak's ghost, or the metaphor said. "His body needs me to sustain it or it will fail."

The work they did on the underlevels was sad. The plague that seemed to be spreading on the underlevels was terrible. Parents lost children, there was poverty, starvation, desperation – growing up Jedi, you see sad things, but you don't really understand them. Not if you were Lydie Korr, who'd been a Jedi-in-training almost as long as she could remember. Not if things like family, parents, siblings were just an abstraction, just letters sent twice a year.

But Captain Onasi's face made Lydie almost understand.

"He's dead?" The Captain's voice cracked. "My son is dead?" He'd holstered one gun. The other laser sight wavered across Dustil-Malak's face and settled on the ground, trembling. Captain Onasi's hand shook holding it. "You said he was fine. You said he was safe!"

"Not dead. Lost." Dustil-Malak stood up slowly. Now that Lydie knew it was so obvious. He didn't move like Dustil at all. "I'm trying to bring him back, but it takes time. Training. And in the meantime -" he looked past them all to the small figure standing quietly in the corner. So quiet Lydie had forgotten he was there. "In the meantime Korrie needs me too."

"He has me. And his mother," the Captain said.

"And a Mandalorian army," Oerin Lin drawled.

From the look of sudden rage on Dustil-Malak's face, that had not been the right thing to say. Lydie suspected the Mandalorian had done it on purpose, but now the man backed away, hands spread open wide, gesturing peace.

"Perhaps I should go," Oerin added. "Leave you two to work this out." He glanced over at the rest of them and raised an eyebrow."We could all leave together. You could show me your kitchens and weapons facilities. And maybe the archives."

For some reason, that sounded like a good idea. There was that prickling between her shoulder blades too. Lydie frowned, rubbing her forehead. "We could show you -"

Mekel grabbed her arm. "No. We have to _go,_" he said, pulling her away. "Now."

Captain Onasi and the man who wasn't really Dustil Onasi were still glaring at each other, circling like mad borra. The little kid, Korrie, stood watching them.

Thalia looked confused for a moment but then followed Mekel. His fingers were locked securely around Lydie's arm. She didn't move them away. She tried not to feel flattered, that he'd chosen her arm and not Thalia's.

"Perhaps another time!" Oerin Lin called after them. His laughter followed them, raising Lydie's indentations on the back of her neck.

_Families. _It appeared they were even more complicated than Lydie had ever imagined.

Not that she imagined things like families. She was a Jedi, after all. What was the point?

"Was that really Darth Malak? He's really a Force ghost?" she asked Mekel when they were safely down the hall and several hundred meters away. "Because they're not supposed to exist. According to _Arkath's Treatise on Essence, _sentients are absorbed by the Force after death, merging into the one. There's no such thing as Force ghosts."

Thalia snorted. "You never had the benefit of a Korriban education." Her skin looked almost gray. "There are lots of ghosts on Korriban."

Mekel Jin rubbed the back of his neck, pulling at the collar he was wearing. It almost seemed to be implanted in his skin. Was that a Mandalorian fashion? "There are worse things than ghosts," he said. "Much worse." He took a deep breath. It sounded like he was holding back strong emotions, scary emotions. "Look, Thally -" his gaze expanded to include Lydie too. Despite herself, her two hearts beat faster."Lydie... I need your help."

**XXX**

**_Dustil Onasi_**

"Mekel Jin! It's good to see you! Dustil's upstairs in his room. He can't play today. Would you like some cake?"

"No I'm not, Mom," Dustil said softly from his place on the stairs. "I'm right here."

Morgana Onasi glanced up, dark eyes laughing, her mouth curving into a wide smile. "I thought you'd been avoiding him. Dustil, it's very rude. Mekel's your friend. And every time he comes to visit you just hide away."

The Coruscanti boy stood very still in the doorway of their conapt on Telos. It was as if he was waiting for Dustil's response.

"Does he come often, Mom?" Dustil asked.

"Every day." Morgana sighed. "If you don't want to see him, dear, just go back upstairs to your room. I'll tell him you're indisposed."

"Stop pretending," Dustil Onasi whispered.

The world around them rippled and changed. His mother vanished, along with the walls and roof. Everything collapsed into rubble, except that staircase. It stretched empty towards the darkening sky. Sullen gray shot with red streaks as the battle for Telos raged on over their heads.

Dustil sat on the landing, pulling his hands around his knees. "Mekel doesn't see this," he whispered. "When he comes we see what he knows. Therefore, you're not him. I know who you really are."

"I thought his face would be reassuring to you."The voice had deepened, overlaid with a metallic overlay.

Dustil refused to look down the stairs. He stared across them instead, into the ruined sky. "I'm not a kid." he said. "I've seen worse."

_Selene huddled next to him. Somewhere off in the corner Ekkumi was taking much too long to die. The troopers came: armored, silver, faceless. He recognized every model of gun that they carried. Most were Republic design. He wondered if some of them had been men like his father. Dustil wondered if his father had joined the Sith like Selene's. He wondered if that rumor about Sub-Captain Karath was even true. There was blaster fire and screams, and laughter. And a humming sound, bright as a blade-familiar now-although it hadn't been then. Lightsabers sounded different in the vids. Louder. In real life the sound was soft and deceptive, a snake in the grass._

_The tramp of armored feet surrounded them. They came with a gray man. Master Uther, although Dustil hadn't known his name. Not them. This wasn't how they met. It wasn't time. _

No. Dustil was in his mother's house. On Telos. Or – well, it had been his father's house too. Except for him never being there. He reassembled it piece by piece in his mind. Then he dared to look down.

The boy on the landing below him wasn't Mekel anymore. He had brown hair in tight curls on his head. Level gray eyes in a wide face. Tall – enormous, really. And he wore a Padawan's robe. A lightsaber dangled from his belt. They might have been the same age except Dustil knew they weren't.

The boy laughed. "If you're going to plumb the depths of your own psyche, let me just tell you you're wrong. I just spent two hours convincing your father not to shoot me. He made me promise to save you. " The wide mouth twisted in a scowl. "That's why I'm here."

In dreams, anything can happen. Dustil gripped the cool silver cylinder that was now in his hand and stood up.

"My father _knows?"_ His voice was furious. It took all of his composure not to charge down the staircase and gut the man who'd ruined his life. Except none of this was real and it probably wouldn't do any good. And he didn't want to kill people. Not anymore.

"The Captain knows. But there's nothing he can do." Malak's expression turned dark. "There's nothing any of us can do until Red makes a decision."

"My father _knows?_ What the –" Information, he needed information. Maybe this version of Malak wasn't another hallucination. Dustil could hate his guts and bide his time, but right now, he just needed to _know. _"Where – where are we, what the frack is going on? Mekk said something about Mandalorians, and being a bodyguard_-"_

"We're in seclusion, in the Jedi Temple. Dustil's.-" Malak's smile twisted. "- Aura troubles the Jedi. Although they don't understand what they see, most of them." Malak grimaced. "I used to wonder how Exar Kun, possessed with the spirit of Freedon Nadd, could come to Ossus and recruit his followers right under the noses of the Council...but now... Jedi are fools. Things they do not understand, they explain. They think I — you-are troubled by your past. And by your current . . . family situation." He laughed. "They have no idea . . ."

"Give me back my body." There. If this wasn't a dream, maybe that would work. Yeah, maybe he'd just ask Darth Malak and Darth Malak would just hand it back over and vanish. Sure. If this was a Sixday afternoon special – sure.

Malak folded his arms. "It's not that simple." The man looked down at the shattered floor. "What I did to you was a Sith thing, Dustil. I regret the necessity, but I had to save my son."

"Well he's fracking safe now! You're in the Temple? What the hell can happen to him there?"

"My — _Revan_ could take back her memories and become the woman that she was. Malachor would be accepted for training, of course, although his potential is far less than either of his parents." Malak closed his eyes. "Thankfully."

"That's great," Dustil snapped. "Really fracking great. And they can live happily ever after. But I want _my life! You took everything from me, and now you're taking more!"_

The saber in his hand ignited red. He threw it at Malak. The man didn't flinch, but the blade stopped in mid-air, a handsbreath from his face.

"You're expending too much energy on a useless attack," the Dark Lord told him, taking the hilt from mid-air. He extinguished the blade and tossed the pommel back. Dustil's hand caught it automatically. Immediately, he tried again. And the same fracking thing happened. _#*#*H&!&!_

"I don't expect you to understand about my son. You're the son of a hero, Dustil Onasi. Malachor is the son of two monsters. Do you think the galaxy will forgive him?"

"_There's no food here for a traitor's daughter," Lirin Ji said, leveling the blaster she'd scavenged from a dead TSF officer at their heads. _

"_It's a lie," Selene Karath whispered. _

"_Don't shoot," Dustil said. His ankle hurt, and his stomach cramped again. "We're leaving." Stubbornly he took her hand, pulling her away from the other survivors, their former classmates now gone feral and strange._

"No," Dustil said. "I guess they won't." He thought about the kid again, those same gray eyes and that trusting open face. The times he'd turned away from it, and his father's unsaid disapproval in the weeks they'd spent in the D'Reev apartments. "My father won't let anything happen to _your_ son," he said, more than a little bitterly. "Even when he was planning on killing _her,_ he wouldn't hurt Korrie."

"He's just a man," Malak said. "He doesn't have the Force. He can't protect Malachor from my father, or the other families, or the fanatics."

The innate arrogance of that made Dustil really want to kill him. _"My dad_ saved _Her,_ didn't he? Just a man? My father . . ."

_Left me. Left Telos. Left Mother to die. _

But that was an old wound. Mostly scabbed over. Mostly. Dustil reined in his fury. "My father saved _your wife. _You didn't do that, _Darth Malak. _You died."

"Revan killed me." The voice was flat, but something burned underneath. The voice turned cold. "It was a Sith thing, what I did, and to undo it we must be Sith. You did well on Korriban, surely you understand."

"Y-you mean I have to kill you?" Okay it was a bad time for his voice to crack. "Strike you down? Fracking hell, _Malak, _that's not a problem, I'll do it right fracking _now—"_

Again the saber shot out. And again, Malak deflected it and tossed it back. Like a teacher. Like a hoverball coach. Dustil wanted to kill him. A lot.

"You're not strong enough. Yet."

"You said you wanted anger. We can be Sith about it . . ." That wasn't a problem, not a problem at all. Lightning crackled in his hands. Hate fueled his strength. Strength led to power, after all, and –

_Lirin's eyes stared up sightless towards the doomed sky. Dustil shoved the blaster – and her rations – in his pocket._

_When he got back to their hideaway, Selene was sleeping. He put the rations on the tree stump next to her and buried the blaster in their makeshift privy. _

"No." Malak shook his head and the lightning died. "I still require your body, Dustil Onasi. And you need my training. But when the time is ready, I will release us both."

**XXX**

**_Deeka Jin_**

The Trade was off. And the Trade was _never _off.

Alone in her office late at night, Deeka put down the box of spiced candies and took a few cleansin' breaths to clear her head. Receipts were down, five girls hadn't even shown up today, and Katta was looking a little peaked. If she didn't know better, she'd think the chit had gotten herself knocked up, but Katta had the operation after the third one, so there wasn't no chance of that, not now.

Her throat tickled and she coughed again. Allergies. Filtration units were always breakin' down this far underground. It was a pain, but she'd have to bribe a tech to look at them again... maybe Karson. Nocturnal sort. He'd be up, and he owed her a few, ever since she'd let him have the twins for gratis. Give a favor, get five back, was what her own old moms had always used to say, back before she left for the corpsepiles. Words to live by, Deeka always thought.

Her fingers twitched a little as she dialed the number in. Palsy? Maybe she'd better make an appointment with the doc herself –

"Hello?" The Toydarian's nose filled the viewscreen quite impressively.

"Karson," Deeka gave him her charmiest smile. "I could use your help with a little somethin, sweetie."

"Deeka." That magnificent nose unfurled. "What's shakin?"

"I think the air unit's actin' up again. Thought maybe you could check?" There was that tickle in her throat again. As if to prove her point, Deeka Jin coughed.

And coughed. And coughed. A little unnervin, in fact. It was quite hard to catch her breath.

"You sound sick," Karson said. The nose retreated. "Comin' down with the Jedi flu?"

"The what?" Deeka reached for a facecloth, and wiped her own small, delicate nose to stop the drip. "Jedi flu?" She snorted. "That some new kinda pox? We don't see a lot of Jedi down here..."

No. Just those Sith who'd promised to find Mekelkins again for her. Creepy lot, them. Sometimes Deeka worried that she'd made a bad bargain.

"Jedi flu. Started cropping up in the clinics they run. Didn't you hear? It's serious. Sents are dyin'."

"I'm not dying!" She couldn't! Her heart beat faster. Another piece of spice, maybe, just to calm the nerves. "Just allergies!"

"Maybe." His tiny hands worried at each other like little mice. "But I'm not takin' any chances. Don't you watch the news, Deeks? They're talking about sealing off the underlevels. And the Jedi temple. Plague's _contagious _-"

"Frack," said Deeka Jin. Then she coughed again. Plague would be really, really bad for the business.

**XXX**

**_Revan Starfire_**

Carth wasn't speaking to Dustil at dinner, and Korrie was unusually subdued. After perfunctory farewells, Canderous and Oerin had gone back to their base at the D'Reev apartments. Revan hadn't told anyone about Polla – not even Carth. In fact, she and Carth hadn't said much of anything. At least not in words. Tonight Korrie was sleeping in Dustil's room and she and Carth were alone. How long had it been since they'd been alone?

Revan did everything she could to draw that terrible look out of his eyes, but nothing had worked.

"We could make a baby," he said finally, when they were done. "Another baby. Yours and mine."

"Could we?" Revan wondered if that were true. They had contra implants, of course. She'd made sure of that before they started sleeping together long ago before she knew who she was. Should they? "I never checked," she said. "But maybe after everything that's happened – maybe I can't." Deep space combat. Radiation. The dark side. Who knew what that did, really? She'd heard stories -

"We could try." Carth looked stubborn and lost. She kissed the side of his mouth, trying to wish it away. "Make someone that's yours _and_ mine. Make someone new."

"I'd like that," she mumbled, sleepy. "A sister for Korrie and Dustil."

"Or a brother." His face was wet. Was he crying? Her hands traced the tears, but inside, a part of her was ice-cold. Finally, Carth rolled away from her, buried his strong back in the silver coverlet. Her hands traced that back through the smooth cloth, watched his shoulders shake. Watched his breathing slow, as he finally drifted off to sleep.

"I'll be right back," she murmured to no one. "Fresher."

Carth was snoring when she slipped out of the door instead, feet walking in an automatic path down hallways she couldn't remember to a place that she'd always known. The practice rooms were dark and silent, this late at night. All except for one, whose light filtered out into the hallway like a cold sun.

"Malak," she said softly. "Malak, Malak."

The boy didn't turn his head, he was too smart for that. He didn't turn his head, or outwardly react. The practice droid hovered to his left and his practice blade met it smoothly. His body moved into another stance: careful, precise, even. An old dance. A very old dance.

Dustil didn't react, but Revan could tell anyways, just from the Force that suddenly stilled around his body, like the calm before a storm.

There was a long pause, long enough for Revan to wonder (again) if she really had lost her mind. And why was she wondering this now – after all that had happened – hysterical laughter started to spit inside of her gut and she clamped her lips shut, lest it escape. Surely, when you were about to accuse your husband's son of being your long-lost mortal enemy and one true love, surely that was a bad time to _laugh -_ something like a choked gasp emerged from her throat, despite her efforts.

The silence continued. The small practice room felt like a tomb, felt like the walls of a ship under seige. Felt like a time she couldn't remember.

"How long -" his voice was quiet, Dustil's voice was very quiet, and not at all childlike. Not at all Dustil's. "How long have you known?"

"I didn't -" she bit back the laughter again, helpless, _hopeless -_"I didn't, until just now."

"Ah," he said lightly. "I thought you would have figured it out sooner." He turned around to face her. Dustil's face. Like Carth's only younger. Darker hair. Darker eyes. And not Dustil at all. Not a thing like Dustil. "Hello, Red."

* * *

A/N this is the edited version. Thanks to everyone who's read this, especially those of you who have bothered, over the last five years to remind me to finish it.

Special thanks for Rose, for the super fast beta, and reminding me, finishing ficts is good. And for Lydie Korr, of course.

Also thanks to everyone in the RPs that ate Kotor fandom. This isn't the only fiction fallen by the wayside :) And Mia, I'm going to get some Azen in.


	28. It Happened One Night

Chapter 28 / It Happened One Night

_Transcript from Coruscant HoloNet broadcast, widebeam, galactic distribution, GS1, Footage from outside the Jedi Temple_

_Jokka Rai: "Breaking news: citizens gather outside the Jedi Temple despite quarantine warnings for levels 16-40, and all travel discontinued below sublevel 10. The mood is tense, but determined, as the citizens of Coruscant demand some answers."_

_Master Marla Korr: "We urge you all to disperse. The rumors of contagion on the lower levels are true, and gatherings such as this are a danger—"_

_Jokka Rai: "Aren't you Jedi sworn to protect us from dangers, Master Korr?"_

_Master Marla Korr: "We're doing everything we can."_

_Jokka Rai: "What about Revan? Is she helping you cure the sick?"_

_Master Marla Korr: "All Jedi are assisting as they can, even our Padawans."_

_Jokka Rai: "So Revan is a Padawan now? What about her son?"_

_Master Marla Korr: "I'm not here to discuss Revan Starfire, or the child. Instead, I urge you all to return to your homes. There is no need to panic, but gatherings such as this one—"_

_Voice from the Crowd: "Where's the vaccine?"_

_Voice from the Crowd: "You said you'd protect us!"_

_Master Marla Korr: "The best prevention is avoidance. Wash your appendages, avoid crowds. If you feel unwell, stay in your home and call for a med-droid. The Jedi are working closely with Czerka and Allied Technologies to distribute more med-droids equipped with anti-virals to the sublevels. A comm channel has been established to call for emergency transport. Above all, remain calm. There is no need to panic—"_

**XXX**

_**Revan**_

Carth was snoring when she slipped out of the door, feet walking in an automatic path down hallways she couldn't remember to a place that she'd always known. The practice rooms were dark and silent, this late at night. All except for one, whose light filtered out into the hallway like a cold sun.

"Malak," she said softly. "Malak, Malak."

The boy didn't turn his head, he was too smart for that. He didn't turn his head, or outwardly react. The practice droid hovered to his left and his practice blade met it smoothly. His body moved into another stance: careful, precise, even. An old dance. A very old dance.

He didn't react, but Revan could tell anyways, just from the Force that suddenly stilled around his body, like the calm before a storm.

There was a long pause, long enough for Revan to wonder (again) if she really had lost her mind. And why was she wondering this now – after all that had happened – hysterical laughter started to spit inside of her gut and she clamped her lips shut, lest it escape. Surely, when you were about to accuse your husband's son of being your long-lost mortal enemy and one true love, surely that was a bad time to _laugh -_ something like a choked gasp emerged from her throat, despite her efforts.

The silence continued. The small practice room felt like a tomb, felt like the walls of a ship under seige. Felt like a time she couldn't remember.

"How long -" his voice was quiet, Dustil's voice was very quiet, and not at all childlike. Not at all Dustil's. "How long have you known?"

"I didn't -" she bit back the laughter again, helpless, _hopeless -_"I didn't, until just now."

"Ah," he said lightly. "I thought you would have figured it out sooner." He turned around to face her. Dustil's face. Like Carth's only younger. Darker hair. Darker eyes. And not Dustil at all. Not a thing like Dustil.

"Hello, Red." Malak deactivated his saber and snapped it to his belt.

For a few heartbeats they were both silent, staring at each other across the small, circular room.

Then, "Malak," Revan repeated his name again. Stupidly, like a broken toy.

"I come here every night when you're asleep." He ran one of Dustil's hands through Dustil's hair. "It's hard, training in a new body. Everything's different. I have to work constantly."

Revan took a deep breath. "How is this possible?"

"There's no death—remember?" The dark eyes were unreadable. Maybe wary, maybe amused, maybe angry. It frightened her that she couldn't tell. Malak's real eyes had been transparent as ferraglass.

And that pissed her off.

"Where's the real Dustil?" _Carth, _she thought. _Oh, hells, Carth. _

It was so obvious now. So clear that she felt like a fool. Just like she had before on the _Leviathan. _How could something so obvious fly right over her head like a flock of fracking thikka birds?

_Because I didn't want to know._

"Dustil is here." Her – he – Malak – shrugged. "Buried deep. In time, I'll return his body."

"What time? What are you talking about? Why are you here?" Her voice was too loud. It might attract attention. She glanced behind them and then stepped into the room. Closed the door.

"You remember I visited your dreams? And you didn't listen? I had to do something. I had to save Malachor."

Remember. White hallways and a man with a jaw and hair. Her husband. Her son's father.

_Malak is gone from this place. You don't listen. Malak is gone from this place –_

"You said Korrie was in danger." Hadn't he? Had he? "Well, he's not now. I'm here. I'll take care of him."

"Like you took care of the Mandalorians?" His face twisted. "Or Arca? What are you doing with Arca, Revan? If we learned anything on Ziost, it was not to involve the Sith – the _real _Sith in our plans. You think you can trust Arca?" He laughed. "She's as crazy as that emperor."

His words made no sense, and Revan realized she'd been silent too long trying to understand them when Malak spoke again.

"Did they approach _you? _Counting on your amnesia? I know you don't remember, but whatever they promised – you can't trust them to eliminate my father –"

"I wasn't planning on 'eliminating' your father," she interrupted. "He says he'll send the Genoharadan after Korrie if he dies. I can't risk that being a bluff."

"The Genoharadan," Malak scoffed. "Unlike Lord Arca, _they_ can be bought."

"I assume Malachi already paid, and he has a lot more credits than I do." The hell if she'd let him know how lost she really was. "Arca-" she ventured, "is crazy." After all, Malak had just said that. "Unstable. Whatever h- she's planning -" had he notice her stumble over the pronoun? Heedless, Revan went on. "Whatever Arca's planning, it won't work."

"You don't know what she's planning, do you?" He was relentless. Like an unstoppable force. Her mind suddenly flashed back to their last meeting. The last meeting. The strength of him in the Force. In combat. Without those grenades, without the mines, she would have been dead. A hundred times over –

"I know enough," she snapped. "I know the dark side has blinded her to everything else." Presumably. Revan glared at him. "Like it did you."

His laughter was horrible. "Oh, Red. You still think you're immune?"

Falling to the dark side was the least of Revan's worries at the moment. "Can Dustil hear me?" she asked, trying to get a sense of a thing that defied description. "Where is he, exactly?"

"No," Malak said. "Carth's son is buried in his own fears." He laughed again. She wished he would stop doing that. There was nothing funny about this meeting. Nothing except how awful it was and if he kept laughing, soon she would too and what did it mean, if you and your dead husband whom you'd killed started laughing?

"Dustil is irrelevant. Weren't you the one that taught me how little one child counts against the fate of the galaxy? Arca can do real damage. And your Mandalorians aren't pets. Lin is Force-sensitive. You must know that. Can you really trust him?"

"Unlike some people," she raised an eyebrow, "Oerin's never tried to kill me." For some reason she remembered that girl on Manaan again. The one with her face. What was her name—Sheris? Oerin had been trying to kill _her. But that's irrelevant. All of this is irrelevant. Carth needs his son back. He's suffered too much for this. And I need to keep my son safe._

"Lin will," Malak muttered, "when he wants his throne. Do you think he'll put up with this charade forever? Do you think he'll wait patiently for our son to grow up and rule?"

"The clans don't have thrones," she snapped.

"Neither does my father, but that's never stopped him from taking what he wants." His hands clenched and unclenched. A boy's hands, all wrong on him.

"I'll listen to you," Revan tried. "I'll listen this time. Just get out of Dustil's body. You were in my dreams, I used to see you in my dreams—go back there and I'll listen this time." She tried a smile, but it felt stretched thin. "I promise."

Malak laughed. The distance between them was less than a meter and he crossed it so quickly, he hardly seemed to move at all. His hands clamped down around her wrists, pulling her close—embarrassingly, humiliatingly close—and pressed Dustil's mouth on her hers, hard and secure, before Revan had a chance to react. Before she had the presence of mind to realize that she _was_ reacting—that a part of her—a part of her couldn't help but react.

_Mal. Mallie. Malak. My husband. My lover. My friend._

Then her knee rose up between his legs, and his grunt of pain was even more satisfying than the kiss.

Malak's hands loosened, and Revan broke free, ducking to the side, and stepping quickly back towards the door.

"Try that again," she snarled, "and I'll cut something off."

Her saber. For the first time in forever, she called it from her belt to her hand. Not that she could stop Malak with a blade, she had never been able to stand against him—but her hands rose up and she summoned the Force, pushing him back farther. Her blade ignited, flashing red between them.

"Red…" He tried to take another step forward, but the Force held, like a wind funneling between them. She pulled at it more, pinning him against the wall.

"I'll tell the Jedi," Revan vowed. "They'll do something. They can stop you."

The wind she was channeling furrowed his—Dustil's-hair, and pulled at the smooth skin on the boy's face. It turned his eyes to slits and propelled the borrowed body back against the wall with a meaty "thunk." It drowned out Malak's laughter—but somehow Revan could still hear it, like an echo in her mind.

Malak smiled bitterly at her, the Force pulling his lips back, making the boyish face look like a skull. "Don't you see? They already know."

**XXX**

**Mekel Jin**

Jedi dorms hadn't changed much. Once you got out of the open halls with their hundred-meter ceilings that were designed to impress the tourists, actual Jedi living quarters weren't that different from something in the sublevels: a womprat warren of tiny cells and open dorms that smelled like human sweat and Twi'lek wax. Being here again was making Mekel remember why he and Telos had gotten the frack out of Dathomir in the first place.

A flock of Padawans passed, all beige robes and belts. Some of them were wearing face masks. One of them waved at Lydie. Mekel hunched his shoulders, sinking back into the wall, hoping none of them recognized him.

He was trying not to feel like a lost akk pup—an effort that was mostly in vain since both women kept turning around and shooting him painfully sympathetic smiles—the kind that made him want to grit his teeth and strangle someone.

The dead collar around his neck hurt. Explosives. Mission had rigged him with explosives. Wasn't that the story of Mekel's life? You think you've got a friend, you think you've got an ally and they stab you in the back. Blow off your head.

Or, leave you trapped in your own mind while a Sith Lord steals their body. Frack guilt. No really, frack it.

The dorms were deserted. This time in the evening everyone would be at combat practice or the library; or, if you were a bad Padawan like he and Telos had been, heading up to the roof for a few beers. How long had they been in the Jedi Temple before they ran? A week? Maybe two? Maybe a month? Now, that brief time felt like the good old days.

They reached a door, one in a line of identical ones. Inside a tiny cell with two beds stacked together. Mekel wondered which one of them got the top. There was an archaic holoview on one wall, with a picture of a world he'd never seen. _Come to Iridonia,_ it said across the top. _Come for the Beauty._

Thally coughed. "You okay, Mekk?"

He snorted. "What do you think?"

"I think you look like you just lost your best friend." She smiled sympathetically. Frack her.

There was one chair in the room. It looked uncomfortable. Mekel sat down on the bed.

"That was really—" Lydie Korr lowered her voice, as if anyone cared what they said. "Darth Malak?"

"That was really Darth Malak." For some reason he wanted her to understand. "He was my mentor on Korriban. I owe him everything—without him, I'd be rolling marks in the sublevels, or worse."

"But Dustil's your friend," Thalia interrupted. She sat down in the chair. "You can't stand there and let this happen to your friend. You're going to help him."

"Am I?" If only things were that simple.

"You are," Thalia May said, in that infuriating voice she only used when she knew—infuriating, because Mekel had known her long enough to know that sometimes she was always right.

**XXX**

**Carth Onasi**

Malak neglected to mention how Carth had almost shot him at dinner Should Carth be thankful for that? Talking about it wouldn't bring his son back. It wasn't like Polla would kill Malak again. It wasn't like she'd run off with him either.

Right?

Except – _except _– he couldn't just—the truth was, he didn't know what she'd do.

So he watched his wife's murderer shovel pomatoes into his son's mouth with his son's hand, tried to keep a smile blasted on his face, and make pleasant conversation with Oerin Lin, who gave him the creeps, but at least wasn't a mass murderer who'd bombed Telos.

It just wasn't getting easier, watching the woman he loved caged in by the Jedi. Polla – no, Revan, he was supposed to call her _Revan_ now, as if Carth could ever say that name without having it stick in his throat – _Revan _seemed strangely passive in the Jedi's gentle care. And she had never been passive. Were he a suspicious man, Carth would have thought they were drugging the food; but he'd had T-3 take samples after their arrival and she couldn't find anything wrong. _ Missio -she – it- _damnit. Wasn't anyone in their own bodies? Why couldn't everyone be in their own bodies? Or dead if they were dead?

Words were useless. That night, in Revan's small room, on a bed meant for one, he tried to use actions instead: he used kisses, caresses – calisthenics after all else failed. He turned her over, and sideways, on top and around, until they were both sweating and tired and more than a little sore. And she – Polla – _no Revan –_ blinked her dazed green eyes up at him and said nothing.

"We could make a baby," Carth found himself murmuring. Begging. Maybe that was the answer. Maybe something made of both of them could make the rest disappear. Make the mess that was the past obsolete – not that he didn't love Korrie, not that he didn't want Dustil – but maybe something new, _someone_ new, maybe that would make a difference. It wasn't – _wasn't _disloyalty to Morgana and Dustil. It _wasn't. _It wasn't that he didn't love Korrie like his own son. "Another baby. Yours and mine."

And Polla, she blinked those sleepy green eyes at him and she agreed. Polla agreed. And he was happy – they both were happy and then Carth Onasi fell asleep, no closer to answers than he had been before.

Except then, when he woke in the middle of the night, reaching for her again, she was gone.

**XXX**

**Mekel Jin**

The collar on his neck felt like a stone. Completely dead. Maybe Mission was gone. Maybe she was never coming back.

"I need to get this off," Mekel said. Since Thalia had taken the chair, Lydie was sitting beside him on the bed. He felt, rather than saw her flinch back when he unbuckled his shirt and showed them.

Nothing ever shocked Thalia May. She stood up and moved closer. "It's a slave collar." She traced the places where his skin had grown over it. "Did Darth Malak do this?"

"No." And then Mekel told them. He told them all of it—confused and jumbled and mixed up with feelings and betrayals and lost friends. He wondered if Mission was listening, or if she'd gone. He wondered if he should care.

When he'd finished, both girls just stared at him. Mekel stared at the picture of Iridonia behind them. Lots of sky. Someday he'd like to see a place like that.

"Med droid," Thalia said finally. "We need a scan to see."

"Were you really going to run off with the Mandalorians?" Lydie Korr asked him. Her expression was completely blank, but there was a little line between the biggest horns on her forehead.

"I don't know," he told her honestly. "They're—they were nice."

Thalia May coughed.

"Nice Mandalorians." The Zabrak laughed lightly, but her fingers twisted in her hair. "Someone told me they adopt people into their clans. Sometimes."

"They adopted me," he said. He thought about Millifar and wondered if he'd ever see her again.

"They bombed my planet," Lydie Korr said. "My brother disappeared. Sometimes—I wonder. Maybe he got adopted too."

"Maybe," Mekel said, because that was what you did say, even if the odds were fracking impossible and what else could he say? Her eyes were so blue, they matched the holoview behind her. It was pretty.

"Med droid," Thalia repeated, covering her mouth with her hand. She coughed again. "We'll go to the infirmary." Her eyes unfocused slightly. "It's almost time."

**XXX**

**Oerin Lin**

The meat they served in the Temple was grown in a vat and disgusting. Oerin couldn't eat it. His stomach rebelled from the prospect, which made dinner a dreary affair. Even shooting amused looks at Malak's ghost from across the table and trying to read the sordid little details of their love triangle from Carth Onasi's mind did little to lessen the tedium.

The man seethed. Seethed and did nothing. No wonder the Republic had fallen so easily.

The matter of Malak's ghost was intriguing, but it was Rev's business. Would she take a third husband? True, in polite society, it was considered ill form to marry both a father and a son, but there were precedents. A thousand years ago, a headwoman from Rialis had married two brothers, although, purely as a precautionary measure, their offspring had not been allowed to mate.

Of course such things were women's business, and if they knew he was even thinking about them—Oerin caught himself blushing and covered his mouth. His skin felt warm under his fingers. One of the Jedi handmaidens refilled his wine bulb, but he pushed it away untouched. Tonight he had no head for it, none at all.

Afterwards, his belly still troubled him, so he went for a walk to clear his thoughts.

Jedi women were enchanting. Truly enchanting. Especially the one who had kissed him. And without his clanswomen around to spoil things, Oerin was fairly confident he could assist with anything she might need. After all, there were precedents for that too. Jedi and Mandalorians—as much as Gwenarius and the other women threatened to find him a mate from Lin or Rialis or (preferably) Ordo, Oerin wanted to continue the family tradition. His mother had been a Jedi.

And her mother before her.

But the corridors stretched longer than he remembered—so long that their shining marble expanses were starting to make him feel dizzy. So dizzy that he needed to stop for a moment.

"Are you all right?" a voice said.

Oerin looked up, to a vision in robes and braids. Blue-green eyes in a dark-skinned face. Jedi robes, just like—

"Mother?" he asked.

"You're sick." For some reason, his mother looked nervous, which was absurd because she was never frightened. Not of Jedi, not of Mandalorians, nor even of the elder headwomen, which was almost suicidal, since every sentient with reason feared them.

He coughed. "You didn't tell me there was a statue of Grandmother in the Jedi Temple. Is it a good likeness?"

Mother bit her lip. "I think you're confused." Her cool hand touched his forehead lightly. "Can you stand?"

"He looks pretty bad." Another voice. Male. Vaguely familiar. Oerin had never met his grandfather, but maybe the man who had won a Jedi had sounded like this. "We should call someone—"

"No," Mother said. "We can take him to the infirmary ourselves."

"Do you think Malak did something to him?" A third voice. Female. One of the other headwomen. A horned face hovered overhead, striped with Iridonian patterns. A Zabrak headwoman? Oerin must be near one of the outer colonies, to see such marvels.

"No." Mother knew everything. It was all in that word. "Not Malak."

"I beat that moffa at chess when I was a stripling," Oerin bragged. His head felt fuzzy, as if everything around the Force was wrapped in soft cloth.

"He's delirious." Someone's voice.

Arms pulled him to his feet, propelled him along corridors, and doors, to a cool, metal place with bright lights overhead. More voices here, all concerned, pulling at his clothes, attaching tubes. Something metal pushed into his mouth and cool air rushed in, made it easier to breathe.

"He collapsed," Mother told someone. "It could be the sickness." She coughed.

Delirious? Was this what love felt like? He'd always wondered. "There was a girl—"

"Hush now." Mother bent over him, reaching down with the Force as well as her hands. In her warm embrace, Oerin felt weightless as air.

**XXX**

**Mekel Jin**

They got Oerin Lin to the infirmary, staffed by a lone, Force-trained med-tech, who immediately rushed them all into an isolation unit and put him in on a ventirator.

Mekel didn't like Lin's odds. Just a few hours ago, the man had been healthy and frighteningly powerful. Now, he was gray and shivering, babbling about colonies and mothers and statuary. The Force around him felt tainted and dull. They could all feel it, but the tech and her droids swarmed over him, attaching tubes and wires, speaking in low voices.

"It's plague," Thalia said quietly, beside him. The three of them sat a corner of the triage center on a metal bench. "Sometimes power isn't enough."

"What plague?" He wanted to strangle her, he wanted to run. But Mekel Jin took a deep breath instead and tried to sound brave.

"You remember—" And then Thalia May coughed. Her eyes met Mekel's. "Korriban."

"The good old days, huh?" he laughed, nervous. The sinking feeling in his gut again. He knew exactly what she meant.

Thalia shook her head, pointing to her throat. "Korr—," she coughed again, this one deep, in her chest like a wound. "Flu."

Mekel couldn't help himself. He got up and took a step back. A _big_ step back. Not that it would help. There'd been coughing like this once on Korriban. Even with the vaccine some of the students died. A few species seemed immune, but pretty damn few. Their masters said it weeded out the weak. There were rumors it had been brewed up in a lab somewhere to do just that. Dreshdae flu, Korriban shake, the Sith puke.

Mekel felt a tickle in the back of his throat—probably just nerves, but—_frack. _He'd been vaccinated, they'd all been vaccinated, but Telos had caught it anyways, and Shardaan nearly died. They said you couldn't catch it twice, but you could get it once and after being on body patrol in the dorms for a week, Mekel never wanted to go back there again. The _smell…._

"You can't leave," the med-tech blocked his route to the exit. The mask she wore over her face made her voice metallic and cold. "The three of you were exposed. We'll need to run tests and keep you in quarantine until you're cleared."

Behind them, Thalia May coughed again. He could feel it, the dark gray sickness, enveloping them all. Mekel's gut twisted. It wasn't fair. He and Thally had been inoculated, but even that was no protection.

**XXX**

_**Malachor**_

Sleeping in the Prentice Dormitories wasn't as fun as sleeping in Mother's rooms, but sometimes, Father said, you had to do what was _necessary._ Not that Father was happy about Mother sleeping with her new husband—Korrie didn't need to be a Threeth-year Eg to know that—but, sometimes, you had to take horrible vitamins, or sleep in a room with a bunch of babies, just to show that you were good.

Korrie understood. His bunk was at the very end, the one farthest from the door—and closest to the fresher. Not that he was a baby who needed the fresher at night; but the others had given him the least desirable place. Korrie wasn't used to that—it had never happened when he was an Eglantine—but he tried to be a good sport. Even when Tia'mack tried to get him to tell the story again after lightsout about how Korrie's stepfather had almost shot his own son, or the others teased him because his mother used to be a Sith.

He kept trying to remind himself that it was interesting, not getting the best. Interesting, just being another Padawan, but being a Padawan wasn't like studying telemetry or Biss. You couldn't just work hard and get extra tutoring to get better and better. No. You had to be born with it. And Korrie—even though his parents had been good at it—he just wasn't. He could barely levitate the stupid feather they gave him to practice with.

You couldn't practice using the Force and get good at it, but you could practice the Forms. Forms were important, Knight Danko told them that over and over again. Forms were the basics of defense and combat. Meditation. Knowledge. So sometimes when he couldn't sleep, Korrie snuck downstairs to practice.

He was just congratulating himself on getting past the sensor droids that guarded the entrance of the dormies when he heard the voices. Getting caught would lead to getting in trouble, so Korrie ducked behind one of the huge pillars that lined the hallway and waited. There were Three of them, passing him, Master Jopheena, a Twi'lek lady, a tall brown man, and—Mother.

A gaspy noise came out of his mouth before his brain could put a stop on it. Three lady heads and one man turned in his direction, even as Korrie noticed something was wrong—really wrong. Mother didn't have a metal hand and this lady did. Mother didn't look like that either—all scary and mad—even when she _was_ scary and mad. When Korrie stepped out from behind the column, the lady that wasn't Mother looked at him like he wasn't anybody at all.

The nose that looked like Mother's wrinkled in irritation, grooving weird lines down to her mouth. "Shouldn't you be sleeping, little boy?"

"Sheris!" Master Jopheena put her hand on the lady's arm the way that AcheKay did when Korrie was out of line.

"Hello," the Twi'lek lady smiled at Korrie like they were old friends. "It's a little late for you to be up, isn't it?"

"I was going to go practice. Knight Danko said it was okay." That wasn't a lie. Knight Danko said practice was good a lot of times. He just never said _when._

"He looks like her." The tall brown man had burny eyes that looked right into you. Korrie crossed his arms and looked back.

"You're supposed to be asleep, Padawan." Master Jopheena used her scolding voice, but all of the Padawans had learned fast that didn't mean much when she used it. Not like with Master Nexx, or Master Iridel or Master Hett.

"I need a lot of practice," Korrie told her. It was funny the way she kept looking at him like she expected him to say something about the lady who wasn't Mother. What was he supposed to say? Now that he wasn't gaspyed anymore, Korrie remembered there had been lots of actresses that looked like Mother. Korrie had seen them on the holovee when Grandfather didn't know. "Are you making a vid?" he asked politely.

"What?" The lady who wasn't mother looked even madder.

"I wasn't supposed to watch, but sometimes I saw," Korrie told her. "I guess Mother doesn't have time to do acting so are you doing it for her?"

"What?" the lady repeated.

"Sheris…" Master Jopheena sighed.

"You must be Malachor," the purple Twi'lek lady extended her hand. Korrie shook it because that was how you were polite. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Yuthura Ban."

The red-haired lady who wasn't Mother made a gaspy noise. "This—this child? Malak's son?"

"And Revan's," said the tall brown man. He smiled and it made his face look better. "My name is Davad. I'm… a friend of your mother's."

"If you'd paid attention, you'd that know, Sheris." The Twi'lek kept staring at Korrie, but in a nice way, so he didn't mind. "His face was all over the nets."

"It is nice to meet you all," Korrie said politely. Because that's what you did.

"My friends have just arrived from Manaan," Master Jopheena said. "We were hoping to talk to your mother." She paused, head tilting, as she considered him. One of her wrinkly eyebrows raised. "And your father."

"My father's dead," Korrie was careful. Lying to Jedi never went well, but you didn't have to tell them stuff either. Father had taught him that.

"Yes," the old lady agreed. "But that hasn't stopped him from making a mess of things, has it?"

"Dead organics don't make messes." Ache-Kay had told Korrie that once, when Korrie didn't want to clean his room.

The purple lady snorted, like Korrie had said something funny.

"Come with me, child." Master Jopheena enclosed his hand with her own, and started walking again, pulling Korrie along like a topper. "There's someone else here I think you should meet."

**XXX**

**Carth Onasi**

"Polla?" Half asleep, he reached for her, calling her by the wrong—but right—name. Half asleep, and his fingers closed on nothing, a warm place on the sheets where she'd been. Half asleep, he rolled over and sat up, reaching for the belt that held his blasters, and his pants, in that order.

It wasn't as if he hadn't had this nightmare before: this is how it all ends, one day she'd be just gone. Maybe turned into Revan like the Jedi wanted. Maybe ran back to Malak, who was really Dustil—maybe off with the Mandalorians, but gone. As out of his life as if he'd really put the blaster to her head and shot her like Malachi D'Reev had brainwashed him to believe.

_You're crazy, Onasi. She went to check on Korrie. She went for a walk. She's coming back. She always comes back._

But then Carth was dressed, and stumbling out the door of their rooms, down the echoing hallways that always seemed half-empty, as if the Jedi Temple had once held more Jedi than it did now; echoing, as if it was still half-full of their ghosts.

Instinct more than reason made him duck behind a pillar when he heard voices. Like you could hide from Jedi in their own halls… except maybe you could, because the two that passed him were more intent on their own conversation than some half-asleep flyboy.

A white-haired woman. Master Atris. An old man. Master Vrook. Hadn't he been on Manaan with the Selkath Ten? Why was he here now?

"… no other choice," Master Atris said. Too tightly wound, that one, had been Carth's assessment when they met. Still was.

"Personal feelings aside, it's not ethical," Master Vrook argued. He looked the worse for wear. New lines etched his face like stripes. "Sharis asked for the redemption. She wants peace. What you're proposing is the opposite of that."

"_She_ won't know the difference." Master Atris quickened her step, forcing Vrook to catch up to her. "But if you insist, we can ask her. Of course, her mind is so damaged she's barely capable of consent." She almost sounded amused.

Vrook's voice grated, carrying across the echoing halls. "We don't need her at all. We have Revan."

"We don't have Revan. We have a shell who cares more about her child than the fate of the galaxy."

"She hasn't refused. She won't refuse. My niece knows what's at stake."

"Even if she gave consent, the odds of a _second _mind wipe and overlay being stable—" Master Atris spread her hands. "If you're concerned about her welfare, why risk it? Sheris is a viable alternative."

"Revan will risk it. Or if not, Knight Arkan can tell us what we need to know. He was there too."

"Davad Arkan was never directly involved. The Hand sent for Revan and Malak. They went alone."

Vrook's voice cracked. "Then use _him_ instead. He must know—"

Master Atris's voice was low, so soft he almost missed it. "They both went before. The Sith respect the Rule of Two. What we saw on the holocron only reinforces the urgency-"

"Perhaps. But redemption should bring peace, not—" Vrook broke off sharply. His head turned back, gaze passing over Carth's hiding place, and then he turned back to Atris, lowering his voice. The two Jedi Masters quickened their steps.

Carth shrank behind the pillar. Hiding from Jedi suddenly felt a lot like hiding from Sith. And maybe just as futile. But Vrook and Atris didn't pause, didn't turn back, didn't come back for him. Maybe they hadn't noticed him after all. Maybe it had all been in his head.

_Maybe you're just not important enough for them to care._

Sharis and Davad Arkan. Two of the Jedi from Manaan. Two of the Selkath Ten. Their names had been all over the vids. They'd survived, unlike Beya Organa, the one Carth had called before she'd—died. _(Been assassinated?)_ His mind tugged on that and tried to make sense of it. Tried and failed. Mind wipes. Overlays…

_I won't let you do more to her mind. You Jedi bastards have done enough._

If Polla hadn't been missing, if he'd had resources, a stealth belt, Degobah courage, Carth would have followed them. He would have found out. But now, in the now, he just wanted his wife, and so Carth turned the other way, towards the apprentice dorms. Maybe she'd gone to check on Korrie. That was likely. Not everything was always a firestorm, he reminded himself. Sometimes, there was just a little smoke.

**XXX**

One of his ribs felt bruised from being slammed into the wall. And she'd kicked him good where it mattered. He'd be bruised later. Maybe worse.

He had to force the words out through the pain. "Don't you see? They already know."

There was a pause as he watched that register, the knowledge sweeping across Red's face. Her saber dipped, exposing her flank, exposing her confusion. The tactician he'd been knew now would be the time to strike, knock her off her feet, ram his boot into the soft skin of her throat and—_No. _He closed his eyes, and tamped down the rage again. His or the boy's? Sometimes there was no difference.

Onasi had clumsily revealed his identity to those Jedi children, but they weren't the first to know. Malak could feel the weight of Jedi Masters too, like eyes along his back, watching and waiting—

Waiting for _her._ Waiting for Revan to act, just as they had before in the wars. Didn't the fools ever learn?

"We're done." Her hand unclenched, the light of her saber extinguished itself, and the Force wave ceased, sending his body—Dustil's body—slumping to the floor.

The finality in her voice was all too familiar. Cold. Detached. Entirely like herself. The Jedi wiped her mind, but they hadn't erased her. Here was the proof. Malak would have laughed, if he could have caught his breath.

"Get out of Dustil's body or I'll kill you," she added.

"I… told you," he gasped. "It's not that simple."

The temperature in the room dropped. Invisible pressure tightened around his throat. Spots danced before his eyes and his breath strangled in his chest. Malak felt his body rise, floating off the floor, suspended by her hate.

"Make it that simple," said the woman who didn't remember, but _was _his wife. "Now."

**XXX**

**Malachor**

Master Jopheena took his arm and dragged him down the halls like a topper, along with the mean lady who wasn't Mother and the purple Twi'lek who was nice, and the man with the burny, burny eyes.

"We saw the broadcasts." Burny-man said to Master Jopheena looked worried. "There's talk of closing the ports. Is there a vaccine? What are we doing to help?"

Korrie knew what _vaccine_ was, he'd learned in school. Vaccine was what you did to not get sick. Like nockyoulashuns, which Grandfather made him do once a year.

Master Jopheena frowned. "The epicenter was a Jedi clinic in the sublevels. There's no evidence that Jedi are carriers, but we can't risk spreading the virus. We've quarantined the zone, sent in med droids, but until we find a cure—" she broke off, as they reached a room with a door. One of the Jedi talking rooms, that were usually _offlimits_ to apprentices and padawans.

Quarantined was like _offlimits_. Korrie knew that much.

Another man stood in the doorway. He was old and wrinkly and looked grumpy.

"You didn't find her?" Master Jopheena asked him.

"Revan's not in her rooms," the old Jedi said. He had a creaky voice. He looked right at Korrie too. "Malachor?"

"Yes?" Korrie said politely. He was fatter than Grandfather, but that wasn't saying much. His voice was raspier too, like he'd smoked a whole bunch of cigarras.

The old man bent down and peered at him. "You should be asleep right now. I'm your uncle," he added. "Your greatuncle."

"Oh," Korrie said back, because that was polite. "Hello, Greatuncle."

"Great Uncle Vrook," the old man said. A muscle twitched right along the lines by his nose. He extended a hand and Korrie shook it.

"I love family reunions," the red-haired woman who wasn't Mother made a sneery face that wasn't like Mother's sneery face, like she didn't really love family reunions at all.

"Sheris," the nice Twi'lek said.

"You reviewed the medlogs?" Master Jopheena looked at Greatunclevrook.

Greatunclevrook sighed. "Have there been any other cases?"

"Five. All under quarantine. And three Padawans came in with Lin. They're under observation too."

"What are the symptoms?" Burny-man asked.

Master Jopheena looked at Korrie and frowned. "Later," she said, gesturing for them all to enter the room.

"Sheris." The Jedi with the white hair, Master Atris, was waiting in there by a big circular table. There was a water jug and some glasses but no snacks. Korrie would have had snacks, if it had been his meeting.

Master Atris hugged Sheris. "It's been too long."

"What does Revan say?" Burny-man asked.

Master Atris shook her head sharply. "You overestimate her." She sighed, and smiled at Korrie for some reason. "Would that we could all live in such blissful ignorance."

"If things are as you say—"

"We don't _know,"_ Master Jopheena interrupted. "It could be coincidence."

"Even if it is coincidence," Greatuncle Vrook broke in, "We need to act. The Sith fleet off the Malachor system vanished. Our networks on Ziost and Thule have gone dark. We need to know _why._"

"And we will. Soon enough." Master Atris smiled at Sheris, and took her arm, the one that wasn't metal. "How are you and Davad holding up?"

"Vrook told me about my lord," the red-headed woman said. "I want to see him. I _need_ to see him."

Vrook frowned. "I'm not sure that's wise."

The nice Twi'lek's lekku flicked forward, and she bent down over Korrie. "Maybe we should get you back to bed."

"I'm not tired," Korrie told her. "How did you guys know about my father?"

It had been a secret, but it wasn't now. That meant he was free to talk about it. Eglantine rules.

Master Jopheena smiled. Korrie liked her smile. "I trained him, Malachor. How could I not know?"

"Bed now," The Twi'lek's hand brushed his hair. "I'll take you. I think I remember the way."

There was no arguing with Jedi. Not when you were surrounded. Sometimes the best thing a kid could do was to retreat.

"Nice meeting you, Greatunclevrook," Korrie said politely.

Greatuncle nodded back at him. "We'll speak soon."

That was what Grandfather always said when he meant _never_ because he was too busy. Korrie understood. He let the nice Twi'lek take him back to the dorms and he didn't even complain once.

**XXX**

**Carth Onasi**

_On the quest for the Star Forge, after the Leviathan, after Revan discovered who she was, her nightmares increased. On their small ship she lived through Bastila's torture by retreating to the combat room. Carth would find here there, sweaty and fever-eyed, lashing out at combat droids until all of the ones they had were a pile of scorched metal at her feet._

"_He's hurting her," she said. Green eyes focused on things he couldn't see. "He wants me to know he's hurting her. He wants me to feel it—feel everything."_

"_Hush, beautiful." Empty words were all Carth had, but sometimes they worked. At least for a little while. _

Carth Onasi didn't have the Force, but he knew his wife. Sometimes, he thought he knew her better than she knew herself. When she wasn't in Korrie's dorm, he knew where she'd be. That one practice room in the lower level of the Temple. The same one she always used. The place where she went went she couldn't sleep.

And so it was there he went and so it was there that she was.

But she wasn't alone.

The woman who was his wife (who lived in the body of his mortal enemy) was Force-choking the man (who had been her husband) who lived in the body of his son.

If such an equation had been on a test at the Fleet Academy, Carth would have answered it easily: _I save my son. I shoot the lady._ Or possibly:_ I throw a stun grenade and disable them both;_ or,_ Revan and Malak? To preserve the Republic, I shoot them both._

But in the now things weren't clever or easy. His wife. His son. What they might be or had been didn't matter, they were his family.

And neither of them were who they should have been.

"Stop!" he screamed.

**XXX**

**Thalia May**

They were in the white room now, the one from her earliest nightmares. The one where it started, the great unraveling. Only that was a lie, because all of this had started long ago, before any of them were born. For the longest time, Thalia May had thought her dreams were the insanity, but now she knew they were true.

It was the world that was slowly, irrevocably, going insane.

"Stop." The medic straightened, and turned off the monitor. The alarm bells ceased, the machine going lifeless and gray as its charge: the dead Mandalorian on the bed.

The man Thalia had killed.

The medic's name was Janus and she'd been a Padawan once, but she'd failed the tests and so she worked here. She had just enough Force to sense things. It made her a better doctor. She didn't have enough Force to feel them.

That made her a better doctor too.

"I'm sorry," Thalia whispered. Her throat was sore now. She'd be very, very sick soon, but Janus would save her, save her so she could meet the gray man from the ocean world. Save her, so she could save _him._ Three of Twelve of Acknahar'tah. She'd seen it in her dreams.

"_You shouldn't have come," he repeated. Something vulnerable in that voice. Something pleading underneath the madness. "I'd build you a castle of stars. I'd keep you away safe, I'd save you – but you – you shouldn't have come."_

"_You have to see," Thalia said simply. "I dreamed of you." _

"Thalia?" Lydie's hand was on her forehead, cool and reassuring. Lydie wouldn't catch the plague at all. Whatever fate awaited her friend—_please don't let her be that Jedi on the bed. Please don't let that be Lydie—_it lay beyond the veil. Beyond what Thalia could see.

"He's dead?" Mekk's voice was unbelieving. "He can't be dead."

Thalia tried not to cough again, not that it mattered. Janus would get sick in the last wave, the most virulent. At that point, the Jedi Temple would be half-deserted, weakened enough that its killers would stalk these halls openly. At that point, Padawans and Knights would go into hiding or be killed. At that point, the plague wouldn't make a difference. Janus would die, one way or another. So would most Jedi. Die or be turned.

"I'm… sorry," she whispered again. Blood and stars and worlds that burned. Oerin Lin would have brought that and more and in some of Thalia's dreams she'd been there too, a queen at his side, creating a glorious Mandalorian Empire that swallowed both Jedi and Sith.

Thalia May had been born on Ziost. A sect of apostates on that world believed that every choice had its own galaxy, a web of realms that stretched beyond the infinite. She'd never met the apostates, but her tutors had made her study their heresies, as they made her study the Jedi, to better learn the truth. Sometimes it was comforting, when she stepped from inevitability to inevitability in the present, to think of those other, possible places, where things could have been different.

"There was nothing I could do," Janus said. "Sometimes… the virus hits like that. A quick burn. He was dead almost from the point of infection. It just took his body time to fail. We don't know why, it just—" her voice wavered, on the edge of exhaustion. Oerin Lin hadn't been the first to die that night.

"It's very contagious?" Lydie Korr sounded so calm, but her fingers tightened on Thalia's.

"You need close contact. Very close." Janus laughed nervously, ragged laugh from a woman near her breaking point. "As long as you haven't kissed him, I don't think you'll catch it."

"I think my friend is ill too." Lydie sounded too calm for it to be a lie.

Janus's face swam before Thalia's. Her hands prodded. "I think you're right."

The white world swam. Mekk's voice in the background. "I think I—I think I know what it is."

Of course he did. She'd told him. He'd save some of them. Thalia had dreamed that too.

**XXX**

**Carth Onasi**

The woman who was his wife (who lived in the body of his mortal enemy) was Force-choking the man (who had been her husband) who lived in the body of his son.

If such an equation had been on a test at the Fleet Academy, Carth would have answered it easily: _I save my son. I shoot the lady._ Or possibly:_ I throw a stun grenade and disable them both;_ or,_ Revan and Malak? To preserve the Republic, I shoot them both._

But in the now things weren't clever or easy. His wife. His son. What they might be or had been didn't matter, they were his family.

And neither of them were who they should have been.

"Stop!" he screamed.

A pause, and then Revan turned towards him. Behind her, Dustil's body fell like a deactivated droid. Maybe unconscious.

_Please not dead. Please don't let him be dead._

"Carth." He couldn't read the expression on her face: she wasn't Polla's, she wasn't even the woman he'd known yesterday. "You knew? You knew who he was all this time?"

He forced a rough laugh. _Don't startle her. Not now. _"I wanted to tell you but I—"

Her mouth twisted. "I understand."

"Is he—?" She was standing between them. He couldn't see. He couldn't tell if Dustil was breathing or not. He had to know—had to-if Dustil was breathing or not.

"He'll be fine." Green eyes scanned his face. "We'll be fine. All of us." Her hands twitched nervously. "I wish you'd told me. It must have been—it must have been hard, watching…." her voice trailed off again and her eyes flicked away from him, glancing back at Dustil's prone body, and then back again to him. "I didn't kill him," she muttered, more to herself than Carth. "I won't kill him."

"I know." He smiled at her, trying to reassure a scared malraas. "You sure he's okay?"

"They'll be some bruises." His wife's mouth twitched. "He might wake up with a headache. Malak's seen worse."

_I don't care about Malak, I care about Dustil. How can you call him that? How can you stand there and call him that?_

Carth forced himself to relax his hands, put one gently around her. "Let's go back to bed." It took every ounce of self-control he had to leave his son's body there. To leave without checking for himself, but he had to get her out of there, away from him, as fast as possible. "If you're sure he's okay."

Her eyes scanned his face. "He will be. We'll get Malak out and Dustil will be fine." She blinked. "Everyone knew. The Jedi all knew and no one told me."

It wasn't an accusation, Carth reminded himself. Even if it was, she wasn't—she couldn't mean it. She had no right to accuse Carth of anything when she'd been the one who—

"Let's go back to bed," he repeated. "In the morning we'll…."

_Everyone knew. She said _everyone._ Not just me. Not just Lin, who guessed. She said everyone._

"No one told me," Revan repeated. Her brows drew together in a frown. "There has to be something. Some ritual… a –cleansing, I think I saw something like that on a holoday cartoon when I was—when Polla was—a child. The Jedi can exorcise Force ghosts, can't they? We'll make them—make them help."

"Sure they can!" Carth nodded. Smiled his empty smile. Guided his wife away from his son. Tried to ignore the question beating like a drum in his skull.

_Sure they can. The Jedi fix everything. _

_But she said everyone knew. If the Jedi knew it's Malak in there—if they knew all along-why haven't they fixed it already?_

**Malachi D'Reev**

He sat alone in his burnished chair, waiting for his pet Mando'ade to finish their security checks with his guest. Since the unpleasantness with Racharn, Malachi had to be very careful. He had enemies everywhere and even his triumphs—a personal Mandalorian army, Malachor safe from the Games, were ash in his mouth as long as his heir was with the Jedi. He'd lost one son already—wasn't that enough? What kind of man would Malachor become with their teachings? Another weak-willed sot like his father. Another failure.

HK ushered in the guest. "Announcement: Citizen Three of Acknahar'tah to see you, Master. Weapons and tox screens are clear."

"Citizen… Three?" The names some sentients chose for their clandestine meetings. Malachi gestured for the man to take a seat opposite him, not bothering to get up. "I received your employer's message." The message had come through the physical post, a deliberately recondite datapad with a link to a holivid production company he'd never heard of. A tiresome waste of his time… except that it had been sent to a dead-drop Malachi had thought was completely secure, and purported to come from Revan herself. "I believe you have a package for me?"

The man was nondescript and dressed in black. Naturally. He pulled out a holodisc from his sleeve. "My master wants you to watch this."

"And you're her errand boy." Where in the Jedi Temple had his daughter-in-law found this criminal?

Something flickered in those dead eyes. "I am Three of Twelve. I serve Lord Arca."

Who worked for Revan. Malachi had already reviewed the security vid while his team checked the clearances. "What-Mistress Arca was too busy to come herself?" He'd heard of Arca, of course. Some self-styled crimelord. Malachi tried to keep up with the flotsam on the sublevels, but it wasn't always easy.

"Lord Arca," the man corrected tonelessly.

"_Lord_ Arca," Malachi nodded, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Of course." Some minor nobility? A tradesman's daughter with delusions, no doubt. Underworld connections. A waste of his time.

Truly, he'd only taken the meeting as a distraction. The rooms were very empty since Malachor had gone.

"We're still in the editing stage, but she wanted you to see." The man leaned over inserted the disc into the holoplayer on Malachi's desk.

Malachi spread his arms, munificent. "Show me," he said.

"It's called _Return of the Sith,"_ said Three.

"_I'm sorry," said the woman politely. "Your face looks familiar, but I—I have we met?"_

_She had long brown hair and bright blue eyes. She was very pregnant._

_She looked like Bastila Shan._

_"Onasi." A muscle jumped in the man's cheek. "Carth Onasi. Admiral Carth Onasi."_

"I'm sorry?" Bastila Shan caressed the gentle swell of her belly. Her beautiful face looked puzzled.

_"We served together on the Endar Spire. And then with Revan. We found the Star Forge and defeated the Sith." _

_The Jedi's mouth pursed in a round 'o' of surprise. "Admiral Onasi? Oh! So nice to see you again. How-" her brow furrowed and her eyes seemed a million parsecs away. "How's the family?" _

_The man gave a ragged laugh. "You mean my son? He's all I have left since Malak and Revan bombed Telos."_

"_Revan never bombed Telos!" Bastila sounded indignant. "He saved everyone! How can you call yourself an Admiral of our glorious Republic and not know that?"_

Malachi pressed pause. "Really?" he sighed. "Our glorious Republic? Tastes have changed. You're about six months too late."

"My employers have a long-term view." Three leaned over and started the vid again.

"_I know what I saw on the net really happened," Carth Onasi retorted. "The newsvids said Revan and Malek destroyed Telos. I was there—there's…there's almost nothing left. Y-you can't—"_

"_I don't know what you think you saw, Admiral, but only a fool trusts the Holonet." Bastila Shan rose to her feet, graceful, despite her burgeoning belly. "I think you should go now." _

"_I'm not leaving until I talk to Revan," the Admiral said stubbornly. He crossed his arms. _

Well, _that_ part they'd gotten right—the man was certainly stubborn.

"Amateurs," murmured Malachi D'Reev tapped the control and froze the holoimage. "Children playing with plasmalights in the dark. If your master wants distribution rights, I can't help."

"That's not our objective, Senator." The man in black drummed his fingers on his knee. He really looked a little too… capable to be an errand boy. Malachi's pulse tightened.

_Ex-military type,_ he thought. _They all thought they had vibroblades to grind. Really, they should thank me._

"Warning: Hostile language may be interpreted as provocation. May I interpret it as provocation, Master?"

"Relax, HK, I'm sure Arca's boy here means us no harm." Malachi forced a jovial smile on his face. "Just a film producer… working with my daughter-in-law, you said?"

"Among others," said the man in black. "My master has many friends."

"Pity she couldn't come herself. I don't like working with lackeys." Despite his bravado, Malachi was glad his personal shields were up. Even if the man had been cleared by D'Reev security, something about him…. His skin was a little too gray. His eyes, a little too bright—almost feverish. And with plague in the sublevels, you couldn't be too careful. But the bio-scans had been clean….

Malachi unpaused the holovid. Transparent projections of Bastila and Carth facsimiles sprang back to life.

"_Revan's not here." Bastila Shan lifted her perfect chin and it trembled bravely. "And where he's going is none of your business."_

"_Oh?" the Carth crossed his arms. "Rumors at the spaceport say he's been taking on a lot of supplies to the _Ebon Hawk_. Maybe like he's not coming back. Is he running out on you, sister?"_

"_You're a fool! Revan loves me! He would never leave me!"_

"Why the male Revan, again?" Malachi murmured. "It's an interesting choice. I'll admit, Bastila ratings are certainly high enough to carry sales."

_The door behind them slid open, revealing a man of medium build, entirely unremarkable except for the length of silky black hair that flowed down his back, his silvery gray eyes, and his handsome features._

"_Bastila?" Perfectly modulated voice. Core accent, with only a hint of mystery. "I heard voices—"_

_In another moment, the Carth was dangling in the air choking, legs kicking uselessly, while the black-haired man clenched his fist in the air._

"_Revan!" Bastila embraced the newcomer, graceful, even with the large belly. "You were gone for hours! I missed you!"_

_The man's eyes flickered between her and the dangling Carth, as his face broke into a beautiful smile. "We still have tonight, my darling." With his free hand, the man caressed her stomach, burying his head in her hair. "We'll have tonight, and we'll make the most of it. Our last night in the universe. You know as well as I what needs be done. Tomorrow, Canderous and I—"_

"_Mmmmffff!" said the Carth, choking._

"_Oh. Right." Revan dropped his hand and the man fell to the lavishly carpeted floor. "Who is this, my sunrise?"_

"_Admiral Cath Onasi," Bastila told him. "Remember? From the _Endar Spire_?"_

_Revan's head tilted, and he turned, exposing his muscular back. "Hrmmm…" He frowned. "Not the poor fellow who faced down Darth Bandon, surely. I thought he died."_

"_No. Admiral Onasi came with us to the Star Forge. He was flying the ship? I think?" Bastila continued. "I admit, it threw me for a loop at first too, seeing him again. He's changed his hair."_

"_So he has," mused Revan. "Was it a beard he had before? And I thought he was older."_

"I can't tell," Malachi observed, "Is this a parody?"

"Not my area of expertise," said the man in black.

_The Carth got to his feet, face murderous with rage. "I came here to help you and you try to kill me?"His hand fumbled for his pistols and then pulled back._

_Revan and Bastila stood there, serene. _

"_We don't need your help," Bastila Shan told him. "My husband has everything under control."_

"_Him and his murdering Mandalorians!" the Carth twitched. "They destroyed Telos—"_

"_Peace," Revan purred. "I think you're confused, my good man. The Mando'ade are our friends now. And once I unite the tribes of the star's forgotten children under my reign—"_

"The what?" Malachi said.

"Not my area of expertise," the man repeated. "I had orders to bring you the video, nothing more."

_On the screen, the Revan made several mystical movements with his arms, until he and Bastila began to glow, with celestial yellow light. Under their influence, the Carth's countenance changed: from anger, to confusion, to a blankness, and then finally, to peace._

"_Oh," said the Carth. "I—I understand, my Lord. Where are you going?"_

"_Where I walk, none must follow," the male Revan intoned. The holocamm zoomed in for a close up on his face. His gray eyes were steely and almost—hypnotic. "Trust me, and if you value our friendship, look after my wife for me while I'm gone."_

_Music swelled, something with lots of strings. The holocamm zoomed to Bastila's face, and the lone crystal tear that fell from one of her ocean-clear blue eyes._

_The Carth bowed his head. "I will," he vowed. "I promise to keep her safe."_

"Abrupt," muttered Malachi D'Reev. "Awkward transition."

"_Know this. I will return," vowed Revan. "Return victorious with the glories of an Empire. Wait for me. Raise my son. Remember my name."_

"_I will, my love." Bastila embraced him._

"_I'd best leave you two alone," the Carth flashed Revan a proud grin and punched him lightly in the arm. "Good man."_

_The door slid closed behind him, and on the screen, Bastila and Revan embraced passionately. Symphonies swelled in the background, and the image slowly faded to black._

Some crimelords were useful. Obviously, Arca was not one of these. Malachi made a mental note to have her killed. What was his daughter-in-law thinking? Endorsing this drivel would get her off the hook? No.

It was much too late for that.

"Thank you," he said, because being impolite to the help never solved anything. "You may go now."

But Three didn't move. "I have a message from my Lord Arca."

"As I said, if it's distribution rights you're after, I can't endorse something this—bad." Malachi felt his features twist in disgust. "Regardless, Revan's old news. Tell your master to pick a new genre: maybe Mandalorian pornography, or something with Jedi… Jedi always sell."

"_The Return of the Sith_ was shot on location in Coruscant," Three said. "But it was not made for Republic distribution."

"Oh?" Odd. Malachi didn't really care. With a nod to HK he raised his voice. "You are free to go."

His faithful droid glided over to Three and prodded the man lightly in the back with his appendage.

Three didn't respond, he just kept staring at Malachi. His eyes… really weren't right.

"Not for _Republic_ distribution," he repeated.

"The Outer Rim market?" Malachi scoffed. "Have at it! Not much there." With Telos and Taris both in ruins, there would be no economy in the backwaters for quite some time. Centuries, probably.

The man in black shook his head. "No," he said. "Consider me an emissary. A harbinger of things to come."

"Oh, ho," said Malachi D'Reev.

So it was _that_ again. The old chesta-nut. Those aberrant, inbred fools who never had the grace to die out. They'd been useful, in their time: one small planet projecting a doctrine of fear that encompassed a galaxy. But that time was past. The Republic needed new enemies now, enemies built from its own rotting carcass. It was time to clean house. And the Sith… they'd been pathetic without Revan and Malak and the rest of their fallen Jedi to back them up. A dying race, almost a joke, hardly even profitable.

Malachi snorted. "You can't be serious." He cracked his knuckles and sighed. "Fine," he said. "Show it on Ziost and Thule. You don't need my permission to distribute your moffa-sweepings _there._ I only control _one _of the government holochannels—there are three others—"

"Ziost," the man in black said, "has recently been liberated."

"No it hasn't," Malachi made a gesture to HK. Enough of this farce. "The Republic has better things to do. Perhaps in another decade or two, but now—"

"Ziost," the man in black said, "has been liberated by the true Sith. The _real_ Sith empire."

"There's no such thing." Malachi snorted. "Not for a thousand years."

The man in black shook his head slowly. "No." A grim smile stretched the tight skin against his skull. "You're wrong."

XXX

A/N The world continues to turn and this continues to be unfinished, but maybe I'm closer to the end than I was before. I mean… I _know_ how it ends, I've written part of it—but getting there—getting all of the characters past this one day-continued to be a challenge. For the longest time, I was stuck on the travel time from Manaan to Coruscant. It seems ridiculous, in an imaginary universe that isn't mine, full of made-up conceits like the Force and hyperspace that I'd be stuck on this, but I was. However, I decided to let that piece of continuity—and probably dozens other that I haven't noticed—fall by the wayside. If you notice em and want to let me know, feel free, but at the end of the day, they probably don't matter. How are any of you to know I had decided it takes a month or something to go from Manaan to Coruscant? Perhaps Vrook & Co. just had a very, very, VERY fast ship.

Wapiti, no idea if you're still reading this, but I… I'm honored you liked the OC you liked so much and I'm really sorry that I—argh. There will be more dealing with it, if that's any consolation. And it was not done lightly.

I started this fiction before Knights of the Old Republic 2 was released, before (at least before I'd heard of her) Karen Traviss's take on the Mandalorians (which I love), before any of the canon revelations that were to come _had_ come. I've taken the liberty of including more recent canon into this piece. Or at least trying to account for it. (Ahem.) In the time since I began this we've moved a lot, had a kid, gotten old, gotten a dog, joined the PTA, and had several pets die of old age. Life! It's all kind of amazing when I think about it.

Thanks to everyone who has ever left a review, encouraged me to finish it, told me they loved a character, or betaed this, especially mia and rose, who continue to give me feedback and are always right.

Oh, yeah, and play SWToR. Even though it may contain the heresy of a false male Revan (and I hope, reading this chapter you can see how sentients may have become confused about that over the centuries, especially in Imperial space, where media is somewhat… suspect), it's still a fantastic game.


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